Nephilim:  The Hunted
by Wulf Duprix
Summary: Castiel / OC  Sari  story set IN TANDEM with Supernatural, so far, anyhow. First story begins before the series premiere. works up to season 4 and onward, filling in the gaps when Cas is absent. angst/adventure/drama/eventual romance.  Review, please!
1. Normal

**Nephilim**

Author's note: As said in my profile, this particular storyline has been in the works for quite some time... While the whole thing makes perfect sense to me, let me know if I'm missing something that falls into the _DUH_ category. Thx and enjoy!

Author's note 2: The first part of the story, as stated, actually happens shortly before Season 1, Episode 1

But, hey, all the main players are already in the game. I'm just filling in the blanks for the time they're not running an episode together. :)

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Supernatural, it's characters, affiliates... blah, blah, etc. This is all in good fun, so don't sue me! :)

**Prologue**

I stood staring down at the shadow of her wings - a mere sooty outline of what they once resembled. She was sprawled in a sadly ungraceful pose in the dirt, her clothing tattered in some places, ripped and ruined in others. The fight had been vicious. Her blood was dripping slowly into the dirt, seeping from the deep empty wound in her chest. I couldn't help but stare at her wide, shocked eyes. Lips parted, as if to ask that final question that never left her... _Why?_

I wanted to pity her, and perhaps I did. But she _had_ come to kill me. She had come with a petty, vicious wrath and a seemingly desperate, insane need to make me bleed.

I shivered slightly, but not because of the cool spring forest air. I wasn't cold. I wasn't hot, either. Nor was I angry, happy, relieved… none of the things one perhaps should be when contemplating the sudden death of a foe. An_ irreversible_ death. At that moment, I was none of these - but instead, strangely empty.

Gabriel, head bowed and kneeling, finished his quiet gesture and stood away from his fallen sister, an unreadable expression on his formerly jovial face, his eyes dark and deep. With a quiet snap of his fingers, the body burst into an intense blinding inferno... and was over in seconds. With the scent of rain on the air, clouds quickly covering over the moon, it would likely wash the area clean by morning, the world moving on just as it was meant to. He stooped to snatch a fallen blade from the ground and finally did have a definable look in his eyes... anger. He was very, very, _very_ _angry._

It seemed like I should maybe panic as he stalked across the short space, but I just didn't have it in me. Not right then. But a small shock of pain ran up my arm as he slapped the angelic blade into my hand with a sharp snap.

"Keep this," he said quietly, his familiar green eyes staring hard past me. "You've earned it." With a small flutter nearly lost in the sound of the rising wind, he was gone, leaving me alone gazing down at that burnt outline that had been her wings.

**Dreams**

S-

It started with dreams, I suppose. I can't ever remember _not_ having them, and they were nearly always about angels. I remember being small, how old I couldn't say, only that I'd begun watching cartoons on our dingy little TV in the afternoon, which may account for my dreaming of cartoon angels. Happy bubbly wings, little halos for some, harps and horns and flutes for others. I loved dreaming when I was small; nary a complaint about me not taking naps. Not until the nightmares began, but that was much later. My dreams evolved as I aged, from cartoons to something more like a graphic novel in my early teens, then more dramatic and sometimes, strangely, even had theme music. But it was nearly always angels, though some seemed to be about a two boys; brothers, I thought.

Any shrink would have taken my dreams and drawings as a side effect of my mother's obvious obsession with angels. From figurines to doilies, she collected them all. I knew she was a lapsed Catholic, hadn't gone to church, except weddings and funerals since before she'd married my Dad; and even then they'd been married in the courthouse. I knew she still prayed; could feel it, in fact, but aside from too many angels in the house, she showed no other outward sign of faith. No cross around her neck, no saying grace at meals, nothing but angels and the family bible on one of the small shelves in the living room. It was tucked between an old copy of Good Omens and Catch22. As far as I knew, she never touched it except to dust.

My mom was a quiet woman, but a lovely one in my eyes. Petite, with soft wavy chestnut hair, soft brown eyes and a slightly plump figure, she always seemed to me a modern version of June Cleaver, though perhaps not as stylish. She worked part time as a seamstress in town, giving her something to do during the day, though she didn't _have_ to work. She still received checks from the government - a combination of bereavement and pension, it left us with plenty of money, though it was just the three of us.

My older brother Damon resembled Mom in an almost eerie way - a handsome masculine version, at least in looks, though he had happily inherited Dad's height; a reasonable 5'10" instead of my mom's 5'2". In his earlier and more rebellious days, he'd pierced nearly everything visible on his body from eyebrow to ears, nose to nipples. Then there was the tattoos. All 18 of them, stretching and weaving from the nape of his neck down, (or so he'd said) to his butt. No one, not even his ex girlfriends would actually tell me what was there, though their eyes would alight with humor, even as their lips clamped stubbornly shut. After a full week of nagging for an answer, he told me it was a picture of me - the never-ending pain in his ass. At least, I think he was joking.

I wonder, perhaps it it wasn't my own resemblance to my father that made my mother so sad. He'd died before I was born, and she'd never quiet gotten over it, though she spoke often and fondly of him. A training accident, or so the government said, directly following a 2 week mission doing God knows what. I can't say for sure why I never believed the story, but suspected it was because neither Mom nor Damon seemed to. Nothing in words, just a quick tightening of eyes and lips, a secondary flinch that betrayed them.

Damon was adamant about relaying every story, every memory he'd ever had or heard about Dad to me. I think he was determined to fulfill some unspoken promise that I would never be lacking a father; and so I never felt that I had. Damon was, and is, all I could have asked for in a brother - as patient as any surly male relative could be, I supposed. I wouldn't know - Mom and Damon and I were all the family any of us had. Everyone else was gone, as far as I knew, lost young or too soon to disease or random accidents. Both of my father's parents - stage 4 cancer caught too late - she with ovarian and he with prostate, died within a day of one another, some 40 plus years earlier.

My mother's older sister - somehow drowned in the shower at age 10 and their parents gone not long after in a plane crash. A friend of the family took my mom in, then moved them both to Oregon for a much needed change of scenery. And so, raised from then on by a stout catholic, (also with an angel fixation), my mother lived on to meet my dad, love at first sight, marry and start anew. I'm not certain when in that time Mom gave up church, or why. Perhaps I never will.

But growing up, Damon was both father and brother, age completely aside. He was only 4 years older, but it was he who taught me to ride my first 2 wheeler, and bandaged me up after I fell. When I was 8, he skipped baseball practice to teach me how to climb trees safely, since he'd caught me the day before trying to climb without him. He pulled out every pillow, cushion, comforter and quilt we owned to surround the base of the old oak tree up the hill from our house. Mom, when she discovered where all the pillows had disappeared to, was not amused. Damon ended up with laundry duty for a month, but didn't seem to mind. After all, the view from the top was fantastic - living on the hill gave us miles of view in 3 directions from the top.

It was Damon who taught me to fish, catch craw-daddies, point out the hidden little spots in the forest I doubt anyone else might have noticed... to me, Damon was my home.

Don't get me wrong, I loved my mother, but all my life she had this way of gazing at me, not with regret in her eyes but a deep and intense sadness. Profoundly sad. I spent hours on some days, staring at myself in the mirror to try to see if there was something _worth_ staring at. Long brown wavy hair, much like my mother's, streamed down my back to my waist, a lighter shade than my brother's, but could turn a fiery auburn in the sun. It was my eyes that caught most people, mossy green shot with grey that mostly resembled my father's in shape and color. I'd always secretly loved my eyes, though sometimes if I looked too hard or too long, it seemed that maybe they weren't mine. _Or not_ _mine alone_. It was a mildly shocking thought when it first crossed my mind. I didn't go near a mirror for a week, thoroughly spooked.

After a day of nagging from Damon, I finally whispered that strange revelation... I wasn't sure if I was ever really alone. He only laughed in that quiet way he seemed to reserve just for me, the quite deliberately pointed out the 50 or so angels figurines and memorebelia we had in the kitchen alone.

"Well _DUH_, Sari," he cracked affectionately, "How could you be alone surrounded by a flock of _this_ many guardian angels?" That wasn't quite what I had meant, but I felt better none the less. My mother, knitting in front of the TV in the next room, went silent for a moment, but the clicking needles continued as I wandered back to my room.

When I hit 11 or so, I began spending more time at my friend's homes, finally becoming a bit of a free spirit myself. It wasn't until after a few sleepovers with friends who did have siblings, older and younger, that I realized just how lucky I was. My brother was an absolute saint by comparison. He was, by far, my best friend. Maybe it was just the kind of a bond that is born in some families, raised just a little off the norm, that gave us the connection we had, but we never knew quite how strong that was until after he hit 16, started driving, and got a job. A month to the day after his birthday, 11:02 pm, my heart literally stopped.

My mother told me later it was as if I simply dropped where I was, halfway back to bed with a cup of water. She was dialing 911 when, in her words, it was like I'd been shocked, though clearly I hadn't. I'd sat bolt upright with a wheezing gasp, my eyes wide, pupils huge and unseeing. "_Damon_!" I whispered in panic.

We arrived at the accident site the same moment as the ambulance. The drunk's slightly less drunken girlfriend had had the wise thought of calling for help. No force or threat known could have pulled me away from him until the necessity of surgery- a hole drilled into his head to relieve the brain swelling. Even then, he still didn't wake.

My mother and I held silent vigil for two days neither eating nor sleeping, each holding a hand, like anchors. I wasn't really afraid he would die, or so I told myself. He couldn't. My mind was made, and for a 12 year old as stubborn as I, that was all it took. But I think maybe that's when I prayed - _really prayed_ - for the first time. _'God,'_ I sent out to the universe, ' _if you're there, if you exist, I'm begging... don't let him die.'_

He woke 3 hours later, confused, pale and incoherent, rambling louder and louder, with panic and tears on his face. He looked imploringly to me, willing me to understand, his eyes terrified and intent. The doctor and 2 nurses rushed in, pushing at me and my mother for room, but they could do little about the death grip he had on my hand.

Sometime during the chaos, my mother had backed herself to the doorway, sheet white and scared, staring at her only son with something like horror. _She_ could understand him, or at least, understand enough. I'd seen enough TV to know it was something close to latin, but not quite. The only thing that I did understand was a common enough name, one nearly everyone in the western worlds knew. _Gabriel._ His words slipped away in a quick dose of some sedative, his eyes fluttering closed.

The doctor frowned down at my brother, muttered under his breath "Pretty sure _that_ wasn't in the bible," before turning to my mother with assurances on the edge of his tongue. But my mother was gone. It never occurred to me, after this nearly blinding wave of relief and exhaustion, to ask anyone what Damon had said. When he woke again the next day, he remembered nothing.

My mother, surprisingly, had retreated to the hospital chapel. Finally knowing for certain Damon would be alright, I followed that soft _hum_ in my mind that I always associated with my mom, as unique as her scent, and found her with head bowed in the middle pew. I slipped silently into the space next to her, and let my gaze wander. I hadn't been in many churches, well, _ever_, but this one seemed strangely generic and bleak, yet peaceful and silent. I waited until she had raised her head, unclasped her fingers, before speaking.

"He'll be okay," I said quietly but with surety. I heard her shuddering breath and the edge of a sob before she caught me tight in her arms, and together, we both wept, knowing it was true.

The next few years were blissfully uneventful, except for the dreams. They were vivid, almost lucid in their intensity. I became increasingly convinced that not all of them were mine. Sometimes they were like lucid flashbacks, other times lucid flash-forwards, and sometimes, though not often, like a lucid rerun of some TV show no longer aired... The story of a Dean and his brother Sammy.

These were the truly odd ones, tinted and hazy, like old photographs. But you couldn't walk around in a photo, even unseen. Except in dreams. I always knew their names while the dreams were fresh, but like dreams do, they mostly faded away, leaving me confused. Why these two boys? Arguing over who gets the last of the cereal, sharing gifts on a dismal, parentless Christmas morning. Random bits that always left me pondering that bond between them, so unlike mine and Damon's. Most of the dreams seemed inconsequential and random, like skipping scenes on a dvd... Then there were things that definitely didn't fit. The man by the crib with those creepy yellow eyes. A small girl in the same room, years later, screaming in terror.

But even these visions were tame compared to those of battle. I dreamt of my first battle when I was 14. There was no fear but plenty of anger, no, _rage_ aimed at my opponent. And bitter resentment. But there was surty and a deep sense of purpose - this was _meant_. This was _meaningful_. This was _necessary._

My opponent was a dark haze, nearly transparent wings flashing in the sunlit field, distracting me just enough. A missed swing of that silver blade, a small flash of light and my arm thrummed in pain. I shot to the other side and countered, barely nicking him before he ducked back.

"This is pointless," I ground out. Parrying again and whipping around him, I missed seeing that wing lash out as he swung to follow. I ducked and rolled, skipping further away.

"Only because you refuse to yield to the inevitable," he snarled back. His voice was, as always, a deep and booming bass. He leaped suddenly, high and forward, slashing out again. I dove beneath him in another roll, nearly as quick and graceful as he, but striking my injured arm as it slipped in a small pool of blood. It hurt both more and less than it should have. I took a second I could barely afford to assess the damage. The artery was nicked close to my elbow and oozing in a steady stream down to my hand. I didn't have the time or the energy to heal this. This fight had gone on for hours already, and we'd both weakened, though I more than he. It was only a matter of time before that silver spike found my heart, or I bled to death.

"Would _you_ yield, were you me?" I countered, crouching low and ready.

"If I had the choice between eternity as an _abomination_ or that of a quick death?" He smirked, an ugly gesture on such a handsome face. "_Death_," he said, and I knew that he meant it.

I had a thought, a spark of memory, a mere sigil image drawn into my mind. It didn't feel like my thought and distracted me, slowed me as he darted forward again. I countered and dove aside, but not nearly fast enough. The back of my blade hand was torn down to the bone. Useless. The blade fell, but I snatched it awkwardly in my other hand, driving it in an upward thrust as I did, finally cutting into something useful. His wing was drooped and bloody at the joint, and with a growl he spun to meet me again, but slower with an injured wing. I had the time, barely.

Using my nearly useless blade hand, I traced the symbol out onto my own heaving chest, praying for speed; for accuracy. His eyes widened incredulously when he saw the mark complete, but even as he dove in to stop me, I smacked my hand hard against it and he burst into light with a final howl of anger, then was gone. I knelt down, panting and dizzy with blood loss.

I didn't really mind the idea of dying, though I would miss my adoptive family, even my never-ending list of responsibilities. But I would be back, of course. Who would replace me if I didn't return? At least this was clean. This death was on _my_ terms. With that relieving thought, I gave in and collapsed to the ground, the world beginning to swim away.

I heard a flutter, felt a _hum_ of energy and tried desperately to scramble back to my feet. I didn't even make it to my knees when I was pressed gently but firmly back down.

"Shh, easy," came that familiar voice. I relaxed back down knowing he meant no harm. He meant well, in fact, but I knew he wouldn't heal me. He'd simply watch over me until I passed on. I think he'd told me once that no good soldier deserved to die alone, but the memory was a distant one, long before the now. His face swam into view, those lovely green eyes so like my own smiling gently back. Beside him, a new face appeared, but these a striking shade of deep and intense blue, speckled with bits of silvery gray. Sober eyes set in a confused face.

"Way to go, Grasshopper," the first one grinned, eyes twinkling.

"Huh?" I grunted, followed by a near echo from the other face.

"I don't understand, brother," he said, his brow knit with confusion. "She's half human, not grasshopper."

The first just shook his head silently, eyes sparkling with both mirth at his companion, and sadness... He took my injured hand in his, and the pain abated. I could only sigh gratefully with a whispered thanks. The haze around me was deepening, darkening.

"Why have you brought me here?" asked the companion, his voice still confused. "This has nothing to do with me, or my duties."

The first sighed with exasperation. "You need to know this, Castiel," he said softly but firmly. "She _is_ part human - mortal - and still fights the fight. Even when all hope seems lost, she carries on like so many of them do, and have, and will. Not so different from you or I."

I heard the shock in the companion Castiel's reply.

"Not so diff-" he sputtered and tried again. "She has no _Grace!_" he declared, skimming my face quickly as if to make sure this fact hadn't changed in the moments since he arrived. "Her death has been sentenced. That means -"

_"Nothing,"_ snapped the first, anger edging the word. "She _has_ grace, not the same as you or I, but a grace nonetheless, unique even for her breed."

My mind might have been slipping away, but it snapped sharp at that. _'What am I? A Dog? A new breed of horse? God's next platypus?'_ I thought grumpily.

"No," chuckled the first, having gleamed my thoughts. "You're merely unique in that there is no limit to your definition." That seemed open to interpretation to me, but then, I was dying. Maybe I was as confused as this Castiel. I could almost feel the naivety trickling off him._ Just how new was he? Surely he'd walked with mankind before?_

The first spoke again to his companion, his voice turning away from me, though I could still feel him near. "Her grace lies in her faith, Castiel. It's that faith, that need to do what her heart and mind and conscience insist she must do... it's that faith that brings her 'round again and again. And all to do what she feels is right, honest. That same faith, brother, that sustains us."

My vision had melted completely away, my hearing lowering a bit, like a slowly fading echo. _This was it_. I felt him lean over me and press his lips to my head, a soft and silent apology and parting gesture. "After all," he said reasonably, "if it was _your_ own soul and self, and those of everyone you've ever loved, or ever would, wouldn't you fight too?"

I drifted away then, carried on those words, light and air, melting ever outward, preparing myself to begin anew.

**a/n**: Reviews are always welcome and appreciated!


	2. Nightmare

**Nightmare**

S-

I'd had that dream more than once growing up - a memory of who or when, I didn't know. Only that while I dreamt it, it _was_ real, though always faded quickly, as most dreams do. Not all of my dreams were so prolific… some were merely_ flashes of mountains crumbling, waves crashing into distant deserted shores… feeling the salty ocean wind sting my cheeks as I trudged down a rocky beach… sitting in a garden, the sun shining down, alighting plants and flowers both common and exotic… weeping with the knowledge that one of my cousins had lost the battle, another warrior gone. Given up. Betrayed. My brother, wincing when the buzzing needle hit his arm, tracing a line into the web of design across his shoulders, the shape of tiny wings blending into the tapestry. A fog, surrounding him suddenly, and I was yanked into his gaze, tumbling through confused images and noise - a thousand places and voices in one and somehow manage to grab his hand -so Real- and he saw me, Really saw me. He looked around us in horror, my gaze following his. The world, in ruins, like an atomic blast had nearly cremated the very ground and everything and everyone on it… Barren, a sickly greenish gray, ash raining down from a chaotic grotesque sky. But it was not lifeless, we saw… 2 figures in the distance, battered and stumbling… two men, seemingly warriors in their own right, looking shocked, horrified…. and guilty. Their images became clearer, even from a distance and I knew, as Damon knew, we would not forget these faces when we woke. They were real. They were important. And they needed help._

I woke crying, gasping and stumbled across the hallway to Damon's room. He wasn't there, of course; he was in his last year of college and I'd just graduated high school. I crawled onto his empty bed, buried my face in the pillow and shuddered as my sobs slowed. I reached for the receiver before the phone ever rang, whispering quietly so I wouldn't wake Mom.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Sleeping is starting to really suck," Damon replied shakily. It made me smile and I could feel him doing the same.

"This is getting absurd," I muttered. "It does actually _mean_ something, doesn't it?"

"Damned if I know… damned if I know _what_, either."

"Yeah… this one isn't fading," I realized aloud. This wasn't the first nightmare we'd shared.

"No…" He sounded worried, but also certain. "No, we won't forget this one. We won't forget_ them_." He was sure, as was I. I just nodded.

"Any clue who they are?" I asked. "Maybe we could call, try to figure this out."

"I'll let my fingers do the walking, tomorrow."

He either meant remote viewing, remote writing, or hacking. He was fairly gifted at all 3.

"We okay for now?" I whispered dreamily, sleep finally catching back up.

"Yeah, think so," he yawned. "Call you tomorrow," he mumbled. I fumbled the receiver back into the cradle, sleep again dragging me down, and across the miles, could see him doing the same. Even as we both drifted away, I could hear that oh-so-familiar voice whispering on the air.

_'Winchester. Sam. Dean. We're running out of time.'_

That was the last dream I had until after my mother died.

**a/n**: Reviews are always welcome and appreciated!


	3. Polaroid

**Polaroid**

S-

My friend Jessie had caught Kyle, _The One_, or so she'd thought, with Amanda, former friend and soon-to-be-outcast. And Kyle, now _The Ass_, was parading his prowess on his personal website. Jessie, of course, was a wreck; she'd thought their post-graduation romance would have them married inside a year, 2.4 kids, a dog, and white picket fence. Now she was torn between extreme rage and nearly paralyzing grief. Her emotions were drastic enough to give me whiplash and selfishly regret having come over for the night. Of course, I'd needed to get out of my house anyway, at least for a while.

Damon was driving back home from Portland, a new girlfriend in tow to meet out mother. I wasn't sure if he knew what had happened earlier or not, but he hadn't called… for which I was grateful. I wasn't ready to talk about it, but the revelation had floored me, sent me stumbling out of the house after seeing both guilt and truth in Mom's silent refusal to answer the question. "Who is this?" Those same green eyes smiling out of the Polaroid, so much like my own… like my dad's. But this was _not_ my dad. He looked enough like him to be a brother, though. Mom stood frozen and pale in the doorway, having heard the figurine crash to the floor from the shelf I'd been dusting. The photo had been rolled up in the hollow within. On the back was scrawled 'Sweetest Regards, G' followed by a squiggle or symbol - and a date. A mental calculation told me it was exactly 9 months to the day before I'd been born. Dad had been on some mysterious assignment for weeks before then, or so Damon had told me, and his memory was damn near photographic; always had been. I'd flipped the photo over, frowning, confused. _That face… those eyes..._

He'd been with me when I died. Him and the other, with the blue-gray eyes, confused…

"Mom?" I whispered, holding the photo out to her. She still hadn't moved from the doorway, but her eyes were full of tears.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, shaking her head. Tears spilled onto her pale cheeks. "I never wanted - I wasn't sure how to say - to tell you, or if I even _should_ tell you."

Now it was me who was shaking; not only my head, but my whole body, with shock. With a sharp click the TV next to me turned itself on, fuzzy and blaring. I couldn't see straight. The lights in the room began to flicker, the radio in the kitchen scrambling through the stations.

If it was possible, my mother paled even further and took a step toward me. "Don't! Sari, No You-"

I took a retreating step back, knocking into the book case and sending more of her precious angels shattering onto the wood floor.

"Please, Sari" she said quickly, eyes shifting from TV to lamp to overhead light. "If you don't stop - they'll know. They'll _come_. And I think… I think they'll kill you if they find you."

But none of these words really registered. I was outside and running for my car, not sure of how I even got out of the house. I could hear her calling behind me, sobbing even as I cranked the engine. Then I was gone. On a road, nauseous. To the back road that led out of town. I don't know how long I drove… hours? Days? The road was familiar and empty; so empty, like my heart. _My dad was not my dad._

I noticed the photo still clutched in my white-knuckled hand and managed to yank the car over with a hard screech, scramble out, and vomit. The bile burned my throat and nose, making my eyes water. Somehow that seemed to do it; gave me permission to give into the tears. I knelt by the empty road and sobbed, my heart breaking.

"_Are you even listening?_" Jessie demanded, sniffling. It was enough to snap me back into the now.

"Yes!" I said quickly. "We're going to barbecue his cheating dick and shish kabob his balls," I said with decision.

Her jaw dropped at that, and forced a surprised laugh out of her. I grinned as best I could and focused. "We'll think of something - well, preferably something slightly _less_ psychotic and preferably something legal."

She wiped her nose on her sleeve and continued with mutilating photos of Kyle. It seemed to be helping, a bit.

"Maybe he'll have caught something nasty," she grumbled, digging the pen into the crotch of the current picture. "Like syphilis… gonorrhea, maybe." She smiled wickedly. I didn't have it in me to reply, but nodded dutifully instead and began to braid my long, long hair. She scribbled and stabbed out the last Kyle in the last picture and sat looking lost. "Now what?" she sniffled hopelessly.

"Um," I said, thinking. "Burn them?"

Her eyes brightened at that. _"Excellent."_

After a brief stop to the kitchen for lighter fluid and matches we headed to the fire pit in the backyard. We lit up the small stack of coals within and waited for the flames to kick up. As she tossed in the first picture, my fingers fiddled with the photo in my own pocket. Maybe I should burn _that_ too. I took the picture out and squeezed it hard. No… I'd wait until after Damon had a chance to see it. Surely I could wait a few more hours. Taking a deep breath, I unclenched my hand and rolled out the photo carefully. The backdrop was woodsy, of course. Most of Oregon was. A small cabin was back and to the left; a stone walkway lined with lights lead up to the door.

The man himself was dressed plainly in a pocketed white shirt and jeans. _Was that a lollipop sticking out of his pocket?_ I wondered, peering closely in the dimming light. Yup, it was. The man's face was a good one, solid jaw, easy smile, kind eyes that sparkled mischievously. _My eyes._

Jessie was feeding Kyles into the fire muttering. "Never again, never again, never again." I slipped the Polaroid back away as she tossed the very last of Kyle into the pit. We stood in silence, watching as it curled, blackened, and disappeared. My eyes followed the smoke, black and inky as it rose into the evening light.

The smoke seemed _wrong_ somehow when it reached the top of the tree line - foggy or cloudy. Frowning, I took a step to the side to see with a start, the _second_ layer of smoke. Distant. Across town. The first siren wailed into the night and Jessie followed my gaze, her brow furrowing.

"Can't remember the last time I heard_ that_ around here," she mused. "Hope it's no one we know."

My pulse sped up with instinct. I jogged to the front drive, Jessie following, for a better look. It was a clear shot from there, a view to almost rival that of our oak tree. A clear line of sight that swooped over the town to the hills beyond.

"_No_," I whispered breathlessly, choking on the word. Jessie clasped my hand hard, seeing my expression.

"Is that-?"

"_Mom._"

When I dropped the keys the second time trying to unlock the car, Jessie snatched them away, opened the door, and declared_ she_ was driving. Though she drove like Hell itself was on her heels, most of the cottage was a blazing inferno when we arrived.

I searched in vain for my mother through the crowd of firemen and neighbors asking again and again, "Where's Clair? Sari, _where's your mother?_" I shook my head finally and sank down to my knees for the second time that day and watched helplessly as the roof caved in with a tremendous crash.

_"Mom,"_ I whispered one last time… then everything went dark.

a/n: Reviews are both welcome and appreciated!


	4. No Signal

**No Signal**

D -

Damon had been driving for most of the day, trying to make up for lost time. Cassie had snipped at him for the first two house of the drive, sparking his usually dormant temper. He'd finally turned around to take her back, his patience growing thinner by the mile, even after he'd dropped her and her bags in front of her apartment. He felt a small pang of regret as she slammed the door, but as he pulled back onto the highway, even that was overcome with sudden worry.

He tapped the bluetooth feature on the car, wanting -_needing_- to talk to Sari. In his mind's eye he could see the outline of her, strangely fuzzy, kneeling beside her car. The bluetooth beeped back at him._ No Signal_. He frowned, wrangling the phone from his pocket to try manually. Still,_ no signal_. Anxiety increasing, he punched the gas. Punched it again when anxiety veered toward panic. All traffic seemed to fade away as his car screamed toward home. But somehow he knew, with dusk brushing the sky, he wouldn't be there in time.

S-

The funeral was two days later. I wasn't sure how that time had passed; even now the world seemed dim and gray. Damon was silent beside me, pristine in his new suit. I wasn't alone, nor had I been since I saw those smoky clouds rising toward the sky. Even before Damon had arrived, I could feel _them._ A soft invisible hand on my shoulder, squeezing with sympathy or reassurance. Damon and I were_ not_ grieving alone.

The fire department had declared the fire electrical; upon hearing that, I went very carefully numb. Carefully blank. I couldn't think of possibilities. There weren't that many to choose from, and they all seemed to lead back to me.

Damon gave a solemn and tearful eulogy at the funeral home, followed by a private burial with only the few essential people needed to officiate.

I tried hard not to look at the newly engraved double headstone. Mom and Dad, together again. _Or were they?_ I wondered. I'd never given much thought to the afterlife; not even my own. Somehow it seemed absurd that I would even have one.

Damon had spoken little more than me since he had arrived, hours after the fire had been smoldered. The chimney and walls were all that was left, aside from the back shed, though that contained little more than saved-up donations. Some of my old clothes, some of Damon's. Some of Mom's.

We stood in silence, hand in hand until the urn had been covered, the sod replaced, masses of gifted flower arrangements placed artfully around the headstone. Dusk was quickly creeping in, stealing the light. Damon released my hand with a final squeeze and stooped to light a double-wicked candle that made me shiver to see dance light against the enscripted stone._ 'May Angels Guide Your Way'._ As we turned to leave, it seemed there were two shadows by the grave, out of place in the dark. But when I looked back, the only movement I saw were those two flickering flames burning together in the twilight.

**a/n:** Reviews are always welcome and appreciated! :)


	5. Freedom

**Freedom**

S-

I still wasn't sure what to say to Damon, even 2 weeks later; even after I'd moved into his apartment. He never pressed, not out loud, but he knew _something_ was up. I'd rarely had occasion to lock him out of my mind, but until I sorted out my own issues, I didn't quite know what else_ to_ do. Best friend or brother, he was our mother's son - I couldn't begin to imagine his reaction to the photo, or to the possibility that I'd started the fire. The _probability_ that I'd started it. Until I could, my mind and the polaroid both were locked away.

Though he'd carefully schooled his features, I knew well enough that hidden injured look. I tried to send him a wave of warmth and reassurance through my mental barriers. He blinked up at me and gave me a small smile.

We'd barely spoken since the fire, though we really didn't need to. We knew each other's faces and expressions well enough. I'd always wondered at the uniqueness of being able to carry on full conversations without a single word. Our invisible companions seemed to stop by now and again - I could feel their humming energy even before they arrived, sometimes together. Sometimes separately.

I never needed to ask if Damon felt them - a slight stiffening of his shoulders told me he felt _something_ was there. I wondered once if I should voice my own impressions of them, but was quickly hushed without a word._ 'No,'_ that instinct said. _'This isn't for him -not yet.'_ It felt right and true, so I said nothing.

Damon broke the silence one evening after returning from work; we sat on the 2nd story balcony watching the sun set. "I found them." He swigged his beer. I raised my eyebrows in question and sipped my own iced tea. I'd never liked beer, being a mixed-drink girl myself. Sadly, it seemed I couldn't get drunk, no matter how much I drank.

Damon waited for my thoughts to clear before continuing. "Sam and Dean Winchester," he clarified. I felt my eyebrows climb higher still, surprise written on my face. I'd forgotten about them. Damon nodded. "They each have a file with the feds." I choked on a sip of my tea, coughed vigorously while he chuckled. My scowl gave way to curiosity and a smile.

"No kidding?" He shook his head and sipped more beer; we watched the very last of a sun disappear on the horizon. "What for? Ax murderers or black ops files?"

"Neither," he said, smile fading a little. "Random and bizarre, more like. Or, at least, Dean's is. Seems to take after the father, one John Winchester. Younger brother Sam is currently enrolled in Stanford; pre-law. Mary Winchester, deceased in '83 during a nursery fire in the home. John took both boys and hit the road after that. Sketchy sightings and strange reports up until a few years ago. Now it's mostly just strange. Seems these guys either actively seek trouble, or trouble seeks them."

"Maybe both," I added. He grunted an agreement. "Any clues to location for Dean and the dad?"

He scowled outright. "Too many places at once for them _all_ to be right, but consensus puts them in the northern states more often than not, driving a late 60's Impala. Seems they have a fair success rate impersonating authority figures, too."

I whistled softly. "Yup, _that'd_ get them a file. What for, specifically?" I'd noticed he still hadn't fully answered. Maybe he was just trying to keep me talking; this was the most I'd spoken since the funeral.

He sighed, his expression fuzzing a bit as he recited bits of the files from known crimes to suspected ones, witness statements, authority statements and reports and anything else that seemed pertinent. When he'd finished his expression cleared and he snorted a laugh at the incredulous look on my face, then finished off his beer.

"Uhhh-huhhh…." I said slowly, churning it over in my head. "So… well." Damon was laughing silently at me, waiting for me to process. "So most witnesses, a few cops included, consider them to be, what? Vigilante heros or something close to it, with the exception of Sam who's only gotten a notary file for association. Vigilante heros who specialize in 'weird shit' cases with a side of identity theft and fraud. That about cover it?"

"Yup." He nodded once, firmly. "That about sums it up."

"Huh." Gross understatement. Damon popped another beer open and we sat in easy silence watching the night descend. The landline inside rang twice, but we both dismissed it; telemarketer on the first, Damon's work needing unnecessary papers filed by Monday for the other.

_We don't need no stinkin' caller ID_, I thought with a smile. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him smile too, and knew he'd heard me. With a shock I realized my mental shields had slipped, and with an almost audible sound, slammed them back up into place. He visibly flinched, like I'd slapped him and stared at me through the shadows, his expression hurt. He took a deep breath as I shut my eyes tight, a silent apology.

"You need to tell me sometime. It will rip you up from the inside out, eventually," he said quietly.

I nodded once. I knew he was right, but right now he was my one link to sanity. I think maybe I'd die or crack completely if he couldn't understand; couldn't forgive me.

_I_ couldn't forgive me. Grief and a fresh wave of guilt washed over me, chokingly close. I stood a little too quickly, craving escape. "Going for a walk," I said shakily. He nodded back but stayed in his seat, resolutely not looking at me.

"Shouldn't go too far alone around here," he said, his voice flat.

I stepped back through the door but replied. "I'm never far, Damon… and I'm_ never_ alone." I slid the glass door shut behind me and hurried out the front door, seeking freedom.

* * *

><p>I wandered aimlessly down dimly lit streets, passing my own reflection again and again in the gleam of glass store windows. I quietly wished I had no reflection, no way to see the guilt in my own eyes. My long hair swished in it's braid behind me, my thin form curled in on myself, just a bit. I'd lost too much weight lately, nearly no appetite since the funeral, but had taken up jogging, rain or shine, through the crowded Portland streets. I'd gone from thin to downright skinny.<p>

Either by wish or aimless luck, I soon reached a quieter, emptier part of town - warehouses and deserted rental property. It seemed as good a place as any to_ Run_. Sometimes, I'd learned, you just needed to. Needed to let go and give in the the sensation. I wasn't just fast, I'd learned. I was _very fast._

I stopped and stretched thoroughly, my body thrumming with anticipation. Then I was flying down the street, passing block after block like an Olympian track star, but my breathing never faltered. Here, I was steady; moving from shadow to shadow like a phantom, I was truly _me_. I could only be this at night, easier not to be seen. It felt as if all these small trappings of myself fell away, fell back behind like they couldn't keep up. Neither could Damon, we'd learned a few nights before. He was faster than average, but not like me; not_ Fast._ I reached the end of the warehouse district, slowed as I passed under the highway, then vaulted over a short chain link fence and was enveloped in the sharp, clean scent of woods.

I was beyond refreshed here - this was nature, so forgotten a stretch of woods this close to the big city. For now, it belonged to me. With that thought I grinned fiercely and kicked it up as never before. This world was a clean and dim and glorious. This was _mine_. This was_ good._ This, I needed.

My mother had taken Damon and I on a cross country road trip the summer before his senior year of high school, 2 months of zig-zagging state to state, passing through tourist traps and sacred forgotten places alike. Then came the tiny town of Eureka, Missouri that sported leg stretching, wallet stretching fun. Six Flags, Mid America. It only took Damon and I a single day to cover it all, desperate as we were to take fun exercise where we could get it. The last ride we hit while we were there was the Dragon's Wing.

It almost didn't qualify as a ride. Sure, you were buckled in - to a harness - like the kind skydivers wear. Beyond that, it was ropes, pulleys, cables and empty air. Once buckled in you were hauled up and back by a cable, suspended between two large metal arches, finally coming to rest at a full 75 feet up. That was step 1.

Step 2: Hold your breath and pull the release handle.

Step 3, spread your arms wide and try not to give into the urge to vomit as you go plummeting straight down 30 feet before the side cables caught you, your own momentum pulling you forward at terrifying speed on what had to have been the world's largest and most dangerous swing set. Everyone who went on it screamed. We did, too. That had been my life's biggest thrill, until now.

This was flying, feet barely touching ground or root or tree. This, in an aching way, felt almost as close to home for me as Damon was. I shook off all thought, left miles behind me as I rushed onward. The forest was a blur of shadows and scent and sound, welcoming and almost overwhelming.

_Damon._ He needed to_ know_;_ this_ I needed him to share; not worry or guilt or confusion. This open and whole and _now_ sensation - this he could live with me, through me.

I let my mental barriers fall away, saw him across my mind sit up with a start, yanked from his brooding and staring with awe through that mental window that was ours. I held out my hand to him, urged him to join. He closed his eyes, eagerly, and _we flew._ We leapt over the fallen dead trees, vaulted into the branches high above only to tumble down again and hit the ground running. We laughed with joy, both without and within until finally, exhausted and elated slowed to a stop. I fell to my knees, breathing hard. I felt_ full_ of joy; wept and laughed. Damon, still on the balcony, doing the same.

This was new. _I was new_, purged of all thought but for this glorious Oneness, this Wholeness I could not contain. I threw my arms wide and my head back, my hair spilling around me in the rush of energy - this indefinable _Truth._ I let it go, out and out and I _shone._ Literally, filled with a golden-tinted light that rushed outward and on - the ground and grass and trees and the very air trembling with the force of it.

I came back to myself slowly, peacefully sprawled back in the grass of the small clearing where I'd ended, my hair splayed around me. Damon looked on in wonder, watching that glow fade back into me. Only when my breath had finally and completely calmed did I realize I was no longer alone. A woman, no more than 20 feet from me stood in the pale glow of moonlight. Her own inner glow, her own energy melted back into_ her_ as I watched. Damon and I stood slowly, still miles apart, to wonder at her. She was model-tall, at least, with a generous figure and face to match. Though beautiful, her eyes held something hard; something ugly and terrifying. She too held that formless _hum_ of energy I'd felt so often in my life, but different. Off. Wrong.

Her eyes hardened further, a tiny smirk on her mouth.

"Well, well," she whispered, hardly loud enough to hear. "Won't Uriel be _pleased."_

**a/n:** Reviews are always welcome and appreciated!


	6. Gabriel

**Gabriel**

S-

Even as Damon felt my sudden panic, he was vaulting over the railing to land gracefully 2 stories down; apparently that sudden burst of energy had left him something extra as well. I could feel him coming, faster than his norm, but only by a bit, determination on his face.

I pulled my barriers back around my mind, trying to avoid distraction. I was certain she was a bigger threat than she appeared and if so, I was knee-deep and sinking. Whatever power, or juice, or energy I'd been filled with before was seriously depleted.

"Who are you?" I asked quietly, stalling. She smirked again and stalked toward me, whipping her long shiny blonde hair behind her. She stopped just short of me, looming over my smaller frame, examining me with that odd dangerous humming energy of hers. I felt like an insect in a jar under that eerie blue-eyed gaze. She blinked and looked again with her eyes - taking me in from my long, now-loose hair to faded jeans, sweaty t-shirt, down to my obviously well-loved sneakers. When she met my eyes again, she looked less than impressed, and angry.

"Don't remember it all yet, do you?" she mused, more to herself than me. "You will," she said softly, darkly. She wasn't smiling now. "I am Danielle, but I think you'll remember me soon enough. Not so long ago, _for me_, at least, you and I had so much _fun_ together," she whispered. The look in her eyes told me she had a seriously deranged definition of fun. There was nothing sane there, I saw, and my blood ran cold.

I could still sense Damon coming, but suddenly wished he wasn't. I doubted there were many beings in the universe that could survive this… _thing_. Whatever she'd been created as had been twisted into something _wrong_, something _other_. I could feel her energy grating against my mind like sandpaper, trying to pry in.

I gasped with that sharp pain and finally took a step back, imagining thick lead encasing my barriers, reinforcing them in the only way I knew how. She frowned, annoyance on her brow and stepped forward after me. I did the only sane thing I could think to do. I turned and ran.

Ran, straight into her. I gasped as she shoved me back, went flying away and landed hard on the ground, my breath gone. I hadn't even seen her move, she was _that fast_. I sucked in a hard breath and scrambled backward, the 30 feet I'd covered airborne wasn't nearly far enough. She was stalking back toward me and then in a blink, stood over me again, grinning evilly, hands on her hips.

"Don't leave just yet, little monkey!" she crooned. "There are so many back home who're anxious to see you again." She laughed aloud - no, cackled aloud, then all expression was gone. Her power washed over me like a tidal wave, my very mind drowning in sensational pain. I couldn't keep the screams in - she began to claw, almost visibly, at my barriers as I writhed in the dirt.

And then nothing.

I was left blinking up through my tears, gasping, dully aware that my nose was bleeding.

A figure stood between us, silent and immobile, his back to me. She gawped at him openly, stunned. I scurried back again, gained my feet, wiped blood from my nose but stayed safely (I hoped) behind him. He was shorter than her by far - not much taller than my own average 5'6". He'd dressed in dark slacks and a light-colored t-shirt, his feet oddly bare. She took her own step back, mouth barely forming the unspoken.

_Gabriel._

It was my turn to gawp. I peered closer, but saw nothing more than his still, normal-seeming self. I dropped my barriers the slightest bit and looked again. Then I just stopped breathing. A faded shadow outline rose out from his back. _Wings_. Enormous wings, even folded against his body. I dropped my barrier a bit more, and suddenly there _was_ more - more color, dimension, _light_. He remained where he was, staring Danielle down, but I knew his words weren't meant for her.

"Don't look too hard, Grasshopper. You're not ready."

_That voice_, I thought, paling. I rose my shields back up, shaken. I could feel it now, that so-familiar hum of energy. I swallowed my heart back down, taking long shaky breaths. Neither of them had moved yet. I wondered if they would.

She broke first, lifting her chin a little defiantly, cocking her head curiously. "You've been gone a long while, brother… you've changed." She was giving him that same bug-like exam, eyes running from head to toe. "I think I like the old vessel better."

He shrugged casually, tucking his thumbs into his front pockets, rocking back on his heels; he didn't seem offended. "Got me a makeover," he replied. "A pedicure too!" he said with a wiggle of toes. I choked down a laugh born, no doubt, from sheer terror. Somehow sarcasm, entertaining as it was, didn't seem to fit the moment.

Her deep empty blue eyes looked confused. It reminded me strikingly of another set of eyes - a hazy blue-grey…

Gabriel merely sighed and shook his head. "Sad. Still so few with a decent sense of humor." He straightened a bit, steady and sure. "You should really go on back home now, Dani. I'm sure your keeper is wondering where you've run off to."

She scowled, baring teeth. "I have no keeper," she ground out.

"Oh!" he said with mock surprise. "I was certain you still reported to Uriel!"

"I do," she said slowly.

"Then consider yourself kept," he snapped. She openly winced - no wonder she'd gone bug nuts. From the little I recalled of him, a lifetime of Uriel ought to drive anyone crazy.

Gabriel chuckled into my mind and I realized he could probably hear my thoughts, barriers or no.

_True,_ he whispered in my mind, _on both counts._

_Oops._

_No worries, Grasshopper._

Our silent conversation aside, his main focus was still before him, smiling her crazy little smile.

"Uriel is out on assignment. He can't be reached, which leaves _me_ in charge," she said with confidence.

Gabriel laughed, a little harshly, it seemed to me. "And whose whack-job idea was _that_?"

Her eyes looked confused again, but answered with a little smile. "_Raphael_ chose me."

Gabriel stilled like a statue, frozen. He hadn't known. "My, my, Heaven really _has_ gone to hell now, hasn't it?" he mused. "Am I mistaken in the original orders, or is Uriel still the only one allowed to hunt her?"

My eyes widened. _HUNTED?_

Danielle's eyes flicked over his shoulder to me, then back to him, lips tightening.

"I couldn't just let her get away… I won't kill her, after all." Her empty eyes flickered over me again.

"No," he said slowly, bringing her attention back to him. "But you followed her across the field. _That_ is hunting. It's time for you to go."

She straightened and stiffened, eyes flashing. "No. I've been aiding him in this endeavor for centuries. She comes with me, or I stay with her until Uriel returns."

Did I think merely crazy? Understatement. Not having grown up religious, I didn't know much about angels, but even I knew Gabriel was one _no one _fucked with. No one without a death wish. Perhaps whatever was left of the true her, did. I know_ I _would've.

Somehow, I missed how it began, but inside a blink, the fight was on.

They slashed and parried, missing each other by mere millimeters, silver blades gleaming in the dim moonlight. Did the weapons have a light of their own? I wondered. It seemed a little like they glowed. I backed into the trees and crouched half-hidden behind a large oak. I tried with mild success to follow along, but I'd been wrong before. _He_ was fast; faster even than her, almost more than my new keener eyesight could really follow.

Blood flew in an arc of drops and I knew they were his. The next to hit the grass were hers. Both their faces were cold and intense, but the glowing wound on his leg was worse, apparently, than the shimmering nick on her shoulder. He was weakening.

I didn't think, I just moved. Like in the forest earlier, I flew into the foray, moving inhumanly fast, though weaponless. All I had to do was distract her _just_ enough. With luck, Gabriel would take care of the rest. He gave no acknowledgment, but we were suddenly moving in synch; two against one was too much for her.

Almost.

I gasped when my arm went numb, not certain what had gone wrong, but Gabriel moved in too quickly, trying, I think, to get between us. She whipped her blade out at his neck and he ducked away, off balance. She never wavered, driving at him again, but knocked aside when I yanked her ankle away. She kicked back, hard and furious, sending everything - sight and sensation - spinning away. I lay panting in the grass, not sure if I could move. Through the haze of near-unconsciousness, I heard a clap of what sounded like lightning; the very air trembled and then seemed to explode in a burst of light. As it washed past me, I found I _could_ move and rolled quickly to my feet to see who-

But it was Gabriel left standing, breath slowing, a look of intense sadness in his eyes as he knelt by his fallen sister. He laid a tender hand of apology on her shoulder, but she was beyond the need for such gestures.

**Full Circle**

I stood staring down at the shadow of her wings; a mere sooty outline of what they once resembled. She was sprawled in a sadly ungraceful pose in the dirt, her clothing tattered in some places, ripped and ruined in others. The fight had been vicious. Her blood was dripping slowly into the dirt, seeping from the deep empty wound in her chest. I couldn't help but stare at her wide, shocked eyes. Lips parted, as if to ask that final question that never left her... _Why?_

I wanted to pity her, and perhaps I did. But she _had_ come to kill me. She had come with a petty, vicious wrath and a seemingly desperate, insane need to make me bleed.

I shivered slightly, but not because of the cool spring forest air. I wasn't cold. I wasn't hot, either. Nor was I angry, unhappy, relieved… none of the things one perhaps should be when contemplating the sudden death of a foe. An _irreversible_ death. At that moment, I was none of these - but instead, strangely empty.

Gabriel, head bowed and kneeling, finished his quiet gesture and stood away from his fallen sister, an unreadable expression on his formerly jovial face, his eyes dark and deep. With a quiet snap of his fingers, the body burst into an intense blinding inferno... and was over in seconds. With the scent of rain on the air, clouds quickly covering over the moon, it would likely wash the area clean by morning, the world moving on just as it was meant to. He stooped to snach a fallen blade from the ground and finally did have a definable look in his eyes... anger. He was very, very, _very angry_.

It seemed like I should perhaps panic as he stalked across the short space, but I just didn't have it in me. Not right then. But a small shock of pain ran up my arm as he slapped the angelic blade into my hand with a sharp snap.

"Keep this," he said quietly, his familiar green eyes staring hard past me. "You've earned it." With a small flutter nearly lost in the sound of the rising wind, he was gone, leaving me alone gazing down at that burnt outline that had been her wings.

**a/n**: Reviews are always welcome and appreciated!


	7. After the Fall

**After the Fall**

S-

Damon had finally arrived, frantic. Apparently my mental shields had been up _too_ well - he'd thought the worst. He swept me up at a run and held on hard, shaking. I began to trembling, too, the reality of the situation finally catching up. I let the tears come and tried to empty my mind, tried hard to think of nothing as the terror and confusion, realization and pain washed through me. The sooner I felt it, my philosophy generally was, the sooner it would begin to fade.

My silent tears gave way to great, wracking sobs and Damon gathered me up and sat, holding me like a child - like both he and my mother had when I was little. He rocked me softly, rubbing slow circles on my back, cheek pressed to my hair. When the worst of it had passed, he set me on the grass beside him, taking my free hand in his. I sniffled and tried to wipe my eyes - and nearly stabbed myself in the process. I'd forgotten about the silver blade.

Damon's eyes widened in surprise. He ran a finger over the inscribings on the blunt end; I hadn't even noticed them 'til now. Whatever blood had been on it was nearly faded away - absorbed, maybe. He held his hand just under the sharper end, and seeing the light spill into his palm, confirmed both our suspicions. It _was_ glowing. He raised a brow in question, but I wasn't sure I could talk yet. I shook my head with a shrugging sigh and motioned with the blade to the sooty remains nearby.

Brow furrowed, he stood and walked closer, cocking his head as if to see, really _see_ the whole of it. A small break in the clouds brought the scene into sudden focus, sending him back a step while his widening eyes swept side to side, realization dawning. Wings. _Big_ wings.

He spun back to me, a dozen questions on his face, but I could only stare numbly at the ground. But with fresh light, he took all of _me_ in then rushed back, kneeling worriedly to assess the damages. He gently touched my cheek and jaw where the angel had kicked at me. I moved my jaw gingerly, but it didn't feel too serious. I ran my tongue across all my teeth and found two loose ones, but otherwise all present and accounted for. Small miracle.

Damon carefully lifted the sleeve of my shirt to check my arm. I'd forgotten it, actually. The gash was deep and high in; I'd heard once of the nerve bundles buried in there. No doubt a deliberate hit. She _had_ meant business. But even as we watched, the trickle of blood was slowing and fresh pain taking it's place. I hissed in a hard breath and wondered dully why so many injuries only hurt once you noticed them. Pain, I reminded myself, was good. Pain reminded you that you're still alive.

I was suddenly exhausted, anxious for sleep - just about anywhere inside would do. I'd had enough of the outdoors for one night… maybe for one whole decade. It had finally started to rain and smelled blissfully fresh and clean, but I wanted home. And a bed. And painkillers.

Damon helped me to my feet and I felt a little better. If I could stand on my own, life didn't totally suck. I wasn't dead, after all. I tucked the blade into my jeans, knowing it wouldn't cut me. Damon frowned, but fell into step beside me when I aimed my feet back toward the city, stopping only briefly to look back at the disintegrating shape of ash slowly washing away into the dirt.

**a/n:** Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated! :)


	8. Castiel

**Castiel**

C-

Castiel stood watching silently from deep in the trees on the other side of the clearing, even as the pair passed out of view. His heart ached to see his sister's remains washing into so much mud. He closed his eyes, remembering her from the early days when she'd been secretly anxious and curious about the world and the people below. She'd had her own inner glow, like that of a human child, seeing joy in the smaller seemingly less significant aspects on Earth. In her first vessel she'd seen with those human eyes a rainbow - and had wept with joy and delight.

But that was long ago, before Uriel had taken upon himself to wipe those small bits of humanity out of her. No one had questioned it - it was for her own good, after all. Castiel frowned at the thought. Except it_ hadn't_ been. There was nothing good about what she'd become.

Gabriel had gone ahead to put extra wardings around the small apartment building Damon now shared with Sariel, leaving Castiel to guard their journey back. It was likely unnecessary since the two were naturally protected, hidden as all nephilim were. But a show of extreme power such as what had happened here earlier, was _not_ hidden.

_That was_, Castiel thought, _most unexpected_. He could hear the other angels, whispering in the back of his mind. Some were confused, nearly all surprised; some were very, _very angry_. Not all, were old enough to remember the feel of that show of strength. It had quite literally shaken the floor of Heaven, shocking every angel into stunned silence. An act of pure creation, though small, was resonant of a new and unique power; _a new Grace_.

He followed the pair a ways behind them, knowing no other angels were near enough to sense them, and saw as he slowed and glanced down, the flowers and saplings belatedly blooming to life in the clearing. His jaw tightened a bit, though he wasn't sure why. _Was this anger? _he wondered. If not, it was something similar. Surely Gabriel would be back to either attempt to hide it, or destroy it completely. Castiel could too, but wasn't quite skilled enough not to leave his angelic thumbprint behind. Better if Gabriel dealt with it.

He still didn't know why Gabriel had chosen him to help; chosen above all his other brothers and sisters. It made him more than a little nervous. He could have refused in the beginning, he mused as he followed the pair into the forest. He supposed he still could, though Gabriel wouldn't be happy. But he no longer really _wanted_ to refuse. He was _curious_. He'd watched over Sari and her brother since the day she'd been born - recalling nothing of Gabriel and his quest before then. Gabriel himself was likely responsible for that. Castiel was grateful for it, though, as it would have been all too easy for some of the others to gleam his thoughts. At least, until recently.

Gabriel denied having anything to do with Castiel's newfound 'heavenly mojo' as Gabriel called it. Which meant either another stronger sibling was keeping secrets as well, or it was truly _Divine Intervention_. He wasn't sure which possibility he preferred. He knew _something_ was wrong in Heaven, but he couldn't find the words for exactly what. The change in Heaven wasn't recent, he knew; it'd been coming on for centuries. _Too many secrets_.

On the other hand, the thought of _true_ Divine Intervention scared him more than a little. If God had singled him out, there was surely a very good, yet so far unknown, reason for it. To consider that something about he alone was special - was Vanity. And Vanity, he knew, would lead to Pride. From there, it could be a very slippery slope to _falling_. Bad. Very bad.

Still, he mused, spying his charges through the trees ahead, this was new. And interesting. And he couldn't help but think his vessel wasn't any worse for it. Andrew Novak had very nearly drunk himself to death. His body was healing, thanks to Castiel's energy. But the man had nearly lost his faith after the disaster that claimed his wife and son. He was all too eager to be of use, especially if it meant being a more or less unconscious vessel for an Angel of God. At least he wouldn't really be awake to suffer without his family. He'd had other family, of course, but his nephew Jimmy and his wife had a young child themselves… he didn't want to inflict his own misery on any of them. And now he wouldn't; he couldn't.

Not that it made much difference to Castiel, but he was glad this vessel was in good shape. On the rare occasion he had to deal with other humans, it seemed to help if he appeared healthy and clean. Now Castiel was both, since Andrew had just finished exercising and bathing. He'd found his first emotion in this vessel to be that of embarrassment; Andrew, the small part that was still awake, had frantically informed him that clothing _was_ necessary, at least when outside one's own home. Castiel had been 3 feet from the front door at the time, reaching for the knob.

Gabriel, who'd been waiting in the street for him, had only smiled innocently, surely having been aware of the blunder - and failing to mention it. Gabriel did, at times, have what could only be called a Bad Sense of Humor.

None of the others in the garrison ever seemed to really notice his absence, another doing of Gabriel's, no doubt. But this assignment, his first as a guardian angel, was clearly heading toward something _important_. When Uriel returned from his present duties, he would surely insist Castiel spend more time home, with the others. Which would get tricky, if he was meant to guard Sari.

"I'll take care of Uriel," said Gabriel from beside him.

Castiel shifted a glance his way and went back to watching the two ahead. "How?" he asked.

Gabriel shrugged lightly, having adopted the more common human gestures. "Who do you think made certain he's been on assignment up until now?" he said, eyes twinkling.

Castiel found himself both impressed and worried. "Won't he return when news of Danielle's death reaches him?" He hadn't meant it as an accusation, but the sobering fury in Gabriel's eye made Andrew, at least, want to scurry away like a scared puppy. Castiel had the good sense to look embarrassed… not one of his fonder emotions, so far. Gabriel said nothing, though, and they walked in silence for a time. The air was heavier here, and brighter. They had reached the edge of the city and watched the pair ahead pass under the highway and back into the 'safety' of the wards. The wards themselves wouldn't last long; a few weeks at most.

They stopped under a street lamp, silent in their thoughts. If anyone _could_ have seen them, they would have looked an interesting pair. Castiel mostly in dark clothes, black loafers (he would ponder the meaning of such a name later) black slacks and belt and a deep blue shirt that seemed to somehow deepen his sober eyes. Andrew had needed a haircut, or so he'd thought before Castiel, but the longer shaggy locks seemed fitting.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was still dressed as he'd started the night. _And still bloody_, Castiel noted with a fresh pang.

Gabriel's eyes tightened at that stray thought. "I didn't _want_ to kill her," he said slowly. Angrily. And, thought Castiel, perhaps a little guiltily. "Yes, little brother," he bit out. _Guilty_. He stepped fast up toward Castiel, who backed up, a little afraid. "Someday Castiel, _you_ will take the life of one of our siblings."

Castiel looked steadily back, shaking his head with muted horror. "No," he whispered.

"Yes," Gabriel threw back. "More than one. Maybe more than a dozen. But it _will_ happen. You will take the life of someone irreplacable, and then _you_ will know the guilt of ending a life of _someone you may have been able to save_."

Castiel looked more than horrified. Little of what Gabriel had ever said _would_ come to pass, _did not_.

Gabriel seemed a little pitying then, and turned away with a sigh. "This may all be prevented before it begins, if it hasn't gone too deep yet." He turned to Castiel looking weary and a little apologtic. "I'm not a prophet, brother. What can be changed, can be changed. It's not written in stone, not yet. What you learn here this time around _will _be important, Grasshopper" he said gravely.

Castiel was looking confused again. "This time?" he said, brows a little raised, then furrowed. "Why do you keep calling me gr-"

"Right! Your assignments, of course!" Gabriel interupted, staring hard at Cas. He was back to unnaturally sober. "Watch over her. Day, night, fiesta or siesta, the next months will be difficult for her, but she has things to learn, hard truths to discover for herself…" he looked away, thinking. "She must learn to fight her own battles, Castiel," he said darkly. "It's time she learned. You may need to make yourself know to her, but that may be for the best. _You_ have things to learn as well." Gabriel looked more himself now, his habitual air of mischief twinkling in his eyes.

"Months?" Castiel looked surprised. "If I disappear for months, it _will_ be noted."

"I'll take care of that," Gabriel replied.

"Then where will _you_ be?" Castiel questioned boldly.

"There are too many other pieces at play. I need to nudge a few of them around," he replied mysteriously.

Castiel sighed his own weary sigh, uncertain. "You said assignments. Are there more?"

"Ah, yes," said Gabriel soberly. "Watch Kung Fu. A little Zen might do you good."

Castiel opened his mouth to ask, but with a snap and a tell-tale flutter, Gabriel was gone.

**a/n**: Reviews are always welcome and appreciated! :)


	9. Casper

**Casper**

S-

I knew he was back by that same niggling sense one always gets when one is being watched. The fact that he'd been back for 3 days straight was beginning to wear on me. But then, he wasn't a threatening presence, just an annoyingly persistent one.

"Ever heard the phrase 'paranoia will destroy ya' ?" I dryly asked the empty room. The room didn't respond, nor did the invisible presence within. This wasn't the first time I'd tried to talk to him, or to coax him out of hiding. Maybe he was just shy. Of course, this was the first time I'd tried talking to him without a scowling older brother hovering over me. I'd told Damon if he didn't go to work, I'd be finding myself a new place to live. At the time, I'd meant it. He was finally gone.

"Fine," I said slowly, "I'll talk, you listen. And if you feel like chiming in at any time, feel free… but this _is_ a bit like cheating, you know. You've got a seriously unfair advantage over me here."

Still, silence. I sighed and rubbed my aching head. My other injuries had all but disappeared already, but it was starting to seem like whatever Danielle had done to my mind was permanent. I winced at the memory, then winced again at the flash of her, dead on the ground. I shoved it away and stalked to the window. The view, as always, was crappy. Most parts of Portland that I'd seen were fairly nice. This wasn't one of them. I moved toward the balcony instead. At least I could see a bit of the park from there.

I'd promised Damon I would stay inside, but surely that didn't include the balcony. I stepped out and waited a few seconds for Casper to follow. His energy, or whatever it was, _did_ move. Usually just a quick jump from one room to another, but sometimes slowly, like wandering.

"You coming?" I asked. I could feel him waver, then move quickly past. I slid the door closed and sat in the comfier of the two lawn chairs. It had a better view. I could see the corner of the playground from here, and if I closed my eyes, I could listen to the sweetness of laughing toddlers, even through the din of traffic.

I longed to go over there, watch the innocence only the very young really know, before they figure out the world at large wasn't all cartoons and swing sets. Before they found out that 'bad' can mean much worse than an ouchie or a time out. I envied them, just a little. I couldn't ever remember being that pure, that naive.

"Maybe I never was," I said softly. "All those dreams were memories, weren't they? Mine? Hers? …Is there a difference?" No answer. My heart suddenly felt 50 lbs heavier. "I think I killed my mother," I said suddenly. "I think…"

There were no words for this, and he probably already knew anyway.

"I miss her," I whispered, closing my eyes. I felt the tears well up, and shook my head hard, trying to stop the panic before it began but it came rushing up unbidden. I surged to my feet, but it was too much, too sudden and I paced the small patio, the trembling getting worse. My anger had killed my mother; what would a panic attack do in an apartment building full of people? Full of families? That thought made it worse - the trembling was coming from beneath me now, steadily increasing. I needed distraction. I needed _release._

I turned without thinking and punched the brick wall behind me. Better, but my heart still felt too full. I punched it again, harder. And again until I felt my knuckle shatter. He caught my hand by the wrist on the fourth swing; I didn't fight it. I could feel bone shards grinding against muscle inside my hand and knew it was a bad sign. I let him keep the hand, but rested my head against the cool brick, finally feeling my pulse slow under the shock. His hand was warm on my wrist; almost hot. There was the tiniest pulse and I snatched my hand away, knowing somehow...

_"No," _I ground out. _"Don't."_

"It will take days for you to heal it alone," came a gruff reply.

"That's sort of the point, but thanks anyway." I cradled my bad hand with my good, my forehead still against the cool bricks. I focused on taking slow, steady breaths, letting that numbness of screaming pain wash away my thoughts, coat my heart over.

"I don't understand," he said simply. His voice was husky, like one just woken from sleep.

I took a few more steadying breaths before replying. "Well, from a purely physiological standpoint, the mind was only designed to process a certain amount of pain at any one time. Too much of one will usually shove the others away. Mental pain, or emotional, aren't so different from physical."

I swallowed hard and turned my head enough to look out at the city. I could see him a bit, out of the very corner of my vision, but blurry - like a mirage. I backed carefully into my chair, sat down slowly, and closed my eyes again.

"From a less tangible standpoint, 'Pain is good. It reminds you that you're still alive', I quoted. To that, he remained quiet. I took another deep breath, held it, then looked at my hand. "Fuck," I said softly. Both my first two knuckles were grotesquely shaped, a small bruised lump stood out above my middle knuckle where a bone shard had stopped just short of breaking the skin. The whole hand was raw and swollen. "On the other hand," I murmured, swaying dizzily, "I think this may be worse than it looks."

Still saying nothing, he reached a tanned hand over and gently touched my wrist. I blinked, and it was done. He pulled his hand away as I flexed my own.

"_Wow_," I whispered. "Thanks."

He stood there, seeming uncertain. "Since you're apparently talking to me now, why don't you sit so we can be civilized about it?" He paused for a second more, then sat, leaning forward a bit to clasp his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. He looked out across the city, squinting a bit in the early afternoon light.

_Handsome_, was my first thought. Not old, not young. A strong face and jaw, capped by slightly shaggy but stylish brown hair that curled just a bit over the collar of a deep blue shirt. The shirt fit well enough that I wondered if they had tailors in Heaven. I smiled at the thought.

"The clothing isn't mine. It belongs to my vessel, though I believe they _were_ tailored for him.

I blinked, shocked. "Can you hear my _thoughts_?" I asked, outraged.

"If I choose to, yes," he answered bluntly, still staring out.

"Would you mind terribly, then, to _NOT?" _I choked out.

He stilled completely for a second, thinking. "Very well," he answered quietly. "But I can't _un_hear what I've already heard." He turned his head to look steadily at me. "And I've been listening for much of your life already."

It took me a second to register those eyes, and more, who was behind them.

_"You!"_

"Me?"

"_I know you_," I said softly. "How do I know you?" He looked a little tense at that, but shook his head.

"I've been told we've met before, long ago, but I don't clearly recall." He looked away, frustrated. But I believed him.

"Who are you?" I asked shakily.

"Castiel." He looked to me again. "In this, you have the advantage over me. I only recall small portions of a conversation-"

"With Gabriel," I finished. "Yeah," I said shortly. I felt a dull and distant anger and it was my turn to look away, remembering more clearly. "You said I had no Grace." He jolted a bit, shifting uncomfortably. "I think if I hadn't been bleeding to death at the time, it might have hurt my feelings." I looked back at him, sated a little by his obvious discomfort.

"I'm sorry for that," he said, frowning at his hands. He seemed to mean it. "You had - _have," _he amended, "more than I knew."

"Oh," I realized, staring steadily at him. "I see… How _much_ really matters to you then?" He seemed surprised that I would even ask, bud didn't reply, only looked more confused. "So," I clarified, "the 'average human' is lesser, with less of this oh-so-important Grace." He looked startled at my wording, his thoughts racing across his face as he sought a way to explain.

I didn't let him. One emotional fit per day was plenty, and I was getting _pissed._

"Well," I said, standing swiftly, "speaking on behalf of my 'lesser' side, what with being half human and all, I'm suddenly wishing you'd stayed invisible." I swept past him to the door and stepped inside. "Bigotry isn't welcome in our home," I said, not looking back. I slid the door shut and hurried back to the bedroom, finally glancing back before shutting my door. But the balcony was empty, and sensing around me, could tell his quiet energy had faded to little more than the softest of whispers.

I slept after that, forcing my mind down as deep as I could where coherent thought was all but impossible. Unfortunately, that didn't turn off my mental vision. His face swam to the surface again and again, his expression serene, almost apologetic. Probably just wishful thinking. If Gabriel _had_ sent him to stand guard, or whatever, I'd have hoped there was a more diplomatic candidate. Then again, what if my over-emotional state was blowing it out of proportion? Hm.

Damon came home early, but not by much. I still had dinner on the stove cooking and the stereo cranked. Nothing like good angsty tunes to knock the residual angel dust out of my mind.

Mac and cheese might not be dinner to some, but for Damon and I, it was practically a food group. The noodles bubbled on the stove while I fished a strainer out of the tiny kitchen cabinet.

Damon stuck his head in, eyed the empty box on the counter and grinned. "Mmmmmm, sustenance!" I gave him my own tired smile back.

"Hey. How was work?"

"An unnecessary evil, I've decided." He leaned against the door frame and stuck his thumbs in his pockets, reminding me of Gabriel.

"Oh?" _This was new_, I thought, stirring the noodles once before fishing one out to test. "And here I thought you _liked_ being all self-sufficient and damn-near broke."

"Hm. Well," he shrugged, "I also like _not_ working for jerks." I snapped off the stove with a frown and dumped the pot into the strainer in the sink.

"I thought you liked it there," I said, surprised. Internet securities suited him, I'd thought. He spent half his day trying to break into client's accounts and websites. It seemed to sate the bad boy edge to him that had never really faded. Legal B&E, or as he often said, 'A License to Hack.'

"Well, they didn't seem too keen when I boldly explained I needed to leave early, to which they boldly replied that if I couldn't assure them the hours I'd signed up for, they'd boldly find someone who would."

Stirring in cheese, butter and hopefully fresh-ish milk, I frowned at him - and noticed the box of random Guy Office Stuff in the hallway behind him. "_Damon_," I said unhappily. He shrugged again, smiling a little but looking away. He was clearly miserable. Damon was always one of the either very _weird_ or very _lucky_ people who actually looked _forward_ to work every day.

"Idiot," I said softly. I leaned up against the counter beside him and rested my head on his shoulder. He was too Guy to acknowledge the need for a hug.

"Between keeping my baby sister safe and having a nifty job, you'll always come first." That was disheartening. I closed my eyes and sighed, not sure what to say. Dinner sat on the counter, forgotten.

"You should call them back tomorrow… maybe there's a compromise in there somewhere."

I felt him nod, but knew he probably wouldn't. We stood there for a time, each in our own thoughts.

"Hungry?" I asked, straightening. He shook his head, still looking sad.

"Nah." Then was silent.

"Hmm… me neither. Try in vain to win back your Mario Cart honor?" I quipped. I'd kicked his ass the day before. He grinned back, but shrugged. "Maybe something mellow." He thought for a moment. "Like a Kung Fu marathon," he said brightening. The energy that had been all but dormant half the day, stirred. Damon's eyebrows rose. He'd felt it too. "Casper likes Kung Fu?" he said, smiling.

I shrugged, but couldn't help grinning back. _'Kung Fu Angel' _I thought, _Legend of the Holy Zen_. Sounded like a bad TV show. I stuck the mac and cheese back in the fridge while Damon dug out his DVDs. I grabbed a beer for him and wine cooler for me and sometime much later, we both finally dozed off. It seemed to me that over the hours, a little humming energy would stir the air, and if I'd had to have guessed, I'd have sworn Castiel was paying attention.

a/n: Reviews are welcome and appreciated! :)


	10. Dear Damon

_**Dear Damon-**_

I'm more sorry than I can say, for more things than I have words for. I had to leave, and I had to leave alone.

It's been an odd life so far, hasn't it? Odd, but wonderful with you in it. I love you, but you know that. I hope I've never taken you for granted, but looking back, it would be like taking myself for granted - so much a piece of me you are. It tears at me, to be what I am now and to know what I now know. I'm a danger to nearly everyone around me. I think whatever mojo or juice or energy that has been rising in me over the years has finally reached critical mass.

The day mom died, I had a surge- I don't even know how to say… I'll try blunt. I think the fire was my fault. The lights, tv, radios - everything in the house went crazy when I'd left. I found a picture, hidden in one of those little statues of Mom's. It was just a Polaroid, but between the man on the front and the date of the back - it was easy to see that Dad wasn't my father. Mom didn't try to deny it. I don't know what happened after I left. I just ran.

I understand if you hate me for it. I know I do.

I'll understand if you can't forgive me for it. I doubt I ever will.

Beyond even that, I had a panic attack on the balcony the other day. If I hadn't punched the wall and broken my hand to snap out of it, I could have brought the building down - _easily_.

It's too dangerous for me to be near you, or anyone else, until I can control it. But I still won't be safe, then. Not really. I don't know why, but I have a death sentence on my head. Even at this very second, I'm someone's prey. Anyone near me who doesn't have the mojo that I seemed to have gained, or accessed, won't survive the angels. As you saw in the woods, I almost didn't.

If anything should happen, if the hunters show up, there's no guarantee they won't mow through anything in their path to catch me - including you. I wouldn't live long if I caused your death, nor would I want to. If you don't know where I am, they have no reason to come for you.

I'm begging Damon, don't follow me. No remote viewing, either. _Please._ I don't want to be in a world where you don't exist. I couldn't bear it.

I love you, big brother.

Love, Little Sissy Sari


	11. Sparkly in Seattle

**Sparkly in Seattle**

S-

By noon the next day, I was on a bus halfway to Seattle with nothing more than what would fit in my backpack, though that held quite a bit. I had a shiny new bank card for my shiny new bank account, having closed out my original so Damon couldn't track it. A change of clothes, a coat, and of course, the angelic blade, tucked deep and secure in the middle of the pack.

Leaving Damon sleeping on the sofa, I'd taped the letter to the door and snuck out. I'd told Damon everything in the letter, everything that seemed pertinent, anyhow; he'd been mentally nudging me, and none too gently, for the last 2 hours. It hurt my heart and left me choking back tears, but I'd shoved my connection with him as deep as I could and studiously ignored him. I wanted to be numb again, just for a bit, but couldn't manage it.

Castiel hadn't protested my leaving, merely following quietly along. Maybe he'd read the letter and understood. I could feel him in the empty seat beside me, and could just see the vague aura outline of him from the corner of my eye.

A sassy pink BMW shot past us on the highway - with a bumper sticker taped to the back window. 'Don't drive faster than your guardian angel can fly!' I smiled a little, but maybe it was right on. Castiel couldn't just stand level alongside the bus as we trudged along. Or, maybe he could. But it'd be weird.

I dug out my ipod and headphones and started up the stamp-sized version of Coyote Ugly. It hit my ears in wonderful stereo - this movie never failed to cheer me up. Sadly, we pulled into the Seattle Greyhound terminal 20 minutes from the end.

I packed up my bookbag again and pulled on my thin, tattered rain coat. It felt heavy as it settled onto my shoulders, but only just. I frowned and checked the pockets. The silver blade, though slightly smaller now, and thankfully less pointy, rested in a new pocket low inside the coat - close to my hip. I felt a bit like a gun slinger; it seemed to be positioned for a cross-draw, but I couldn't complain. I felt just the tiniest bit safer, even with Castiel hovering nearby.

Slinging my pack onto my shoulder, I let the bus empty out before stepping out into the chilly rain. Tucking my long braid down my back and pulling the over-large hood up, made my way through a crowd of greeters and the greeted and stopped at the edge of the street.

This was really as far in my plan as I'd thought through so far. My chest felt a little tight at the thought; I was truly directionless… homeless… _alone_. I stood there in the rain and gave into a moment of self-pity. It didn't last long. I shook it off, lifted my chin, turned decisively to my right and began to walk….. well, somewhere. Preferably somewhere_ dry._

Happily, this was Seattle, and I only needed to go half a block before finding a mom-n-pop coffee shop. I wasn't keen on the taste of coffee, but they had a head-spinning array of teas. I stared openly at the list printed on the wall behind the counter and the old man working there chuckled a little, wiping the counter top down, his eyes crinkled kindly.

"Um…" I said dumbly, smiling back. "Surprise me?"

He nodded once and considered while pulling out an old-fashioned mini teapot and a mug. I paid him with a thanks and took it to the tiny table open by the window. It turned out to be cinnamon orange pekoe - _Yum_.

I pulled out the disposable cell phone I'd bought that morning, but it only gave me the time… no comfort there. But the murmured conversations around me were, a little; everyone spoke with the casual air of locals and regulars. _Must be nice_, I thought ruefully. I finished my tea and wondered what to do next.

Logic told me to buy a car, but until I figured out how to change my name without leaving a paper trail, I was likely out of luck. Hitchhiking was probably my best bet, but I'd never done _that_ before either.

Then I saw _him_. He stepped out of the large pickup truck across the street, looked both ways, and crossed. A large man, I noted, who walked with an easy confidence straight to the door and stepped in. Middle-aged, at first guess, but not too old; his hair only had the barest sprinkles of salt and pepper gray and his eyes were deep and serious. Eyes that wouldn't miss much, including my casual perusal of him. He glanced my way and gave a small nod before heading to the back to order. I realized somewhat belatedly that I'd seen the small flash of a gun before he'd pulled his coat closed outside. I doubted anyone else had noticed.

But the odd thing was, _I knew this man_ - but couldn't _quite_ remember how. I shuffled through memories, recent and old, coming up with nothing. I could hear the deep rumble of his voice as he ordered at the counter. With a loud clatter, the rain went from a sprinkle to a pour, hammering against the glass. I did _not_ want to go back out.

_"Ahem_," came a polite clearing of a voice. It was him, of course. I'd never heard anyone with a voice so deep clear his throat before. He held a large carry out coffee - and a small pot of tea. "Theo asked me to drop this off, said you're welcome to stay awhile more." He set the pot on the table beside me as I turned to wave at 'Theo' in thanks.

"Thanks, I murmured to the man, who nodded again and turned to go… then stopped short at the door, finally noticing the sudden downpour. He sighed audibly, then turned to find a seat and wait it out.

All the tables had filled sometime during my earlier cup of tea and of all the tiny chairs left, mine seemed to have the most elbow room, since I'd tucked myself almost into the corner. I pushed the chair out a fraction with my toe, gesturing. "Please," I invited politely, though my real intent was to keep him here just a minute more until I could place his face. He nodded his head in thanks and sat - then raised a brow when he noticed me still staring.

"Sorry," I said, blinking back and shaking it off, embarrassed. "You look familiar." Honest seemed the way to go.

"Ah," he replied, his own brow furrowing a bit as if trying to place me, too.

I began to say…. well, something, when I felt a tiny tug at my sleeve. I looked down and thought simply, that a basket full of puppies couldn't have been cuter. A mop of brown Shirley Temple curls on top of a round sweet face with the biggest blue eyes I'd ever seen. She looked like an over-grown doll in a pink frilly dress with over-large but matching set of gloves on her tiny hands. You couldn't help but smile at such a child; she couldn't have been more than 3 or 4.

She smiled back, dimples popping. _"You're pretty!"_ she whispered loudly, like a secret shared. Charmed, I smiled wider.

_"So are You!_" I whispered loudly back.

_"You're sparkly too!"_ she whispered, leaning in, her eyes all innocence. I probably looked surprised, but she giggled and shifted her gaze over my shoulder. _"Him too, even_ _MORE!"_ I glanced over my shoulder - at nothing. But I could almost feel Castiel's surprise, the air stirring.

I turned back in time to see her wave tiny fingers at the place I was sure he was. Those blue eyes came back to me, shyly. She took a deep breath and with a rushed whisper, a little louder, _"Mommy can't see him!"_ she said revealingly, like a _Big Secret_ come to light.

_"Ohhhhh,_" I whispered back, loudly. _"I don't think most grown-ups can!"_ I whispered importantly in return. The man whose face I knew, but didn't, had gone very still.

"_Katie!_ Leave her alone, now!" came a nervous voice from a few tables away. I smiled at the woman, likely 'Mommy', who looked apologetically at me, waving the girl back. The tiny child game me a hasty, grinning wave before skipping away, curls bouncing.

"Just grown-ups, huh?" came that rumbling voice. The man's eyes had gone a little flat with suspicion.

With a hopefully innocent looking shrug, "I think maybe most children can see things we can't."

He raised a brow and peered over my shoulder to the corner, sipping coffee. "Hm." A man of few words.

I sighed inwardly and glanced back out at the rain. It hadn't let up and a harsh wind had joined it. I was stuck under that gaze, unless I wanted to get soaked. I took a sip of tea, noting it was cooling fast. Then raised my eyes boldly to his, and stared back. He blinked first, looking a little embarrassed. I could almost hear the gears in his head churning, making up his mind. Castiel shifted a little behind me. This was beyond weird, and getting uncomfortable.

Whatever he'd been wondering, he'd seem to have decided.

"I'm John," he said quietly. "John Winchester."

**a/n:** Reviews are always welcome and appreciated! :)


	12. John

**John**

S-

"I'm John," he said quietly. "John Winchester."

This time I did stare, totally thrown. "Oh." And then it dawned. Not a memory, but a dream. _He was the father_. It had been a long time since he'd made an appearance in my dreams of the brothers. He looked older, obviously, but somehow_ aged_. Experience, maybe.

"Sari." I replied simply. Frowning down into my tea, I decided on honesty. I looked back into those deep eyes and let out a little huff. "And… I think I need your help."

Fate or design chose that moment to stop the rain._ Totally_. It seemed deafeningly quiet. We both looked out, startled, then back at each other.

"Your doing?" he asked, half joking.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"What kind of help?" He seemed both curious and a little alarmed. And still suspicious.

"Probably just a ride, but…"

"There's taxis for that, too, ya know."

"Out of town, preferably." I bit my lip and considered how much to let him know that I already knew. "Bus or plane could be bad for me, or maybe for my brother. More specifically, leaving a paper trail." I felt steady in my honesty, but his eyes were narrowing and I rushed on.

"I've dreamt of you. As in, _YOU_ you and not some random alias you, which is probably what I _DO_ need, but not from you and if I don't get _some_ kind of a break soon my brother will catch up to me and it's going to get him killed," I ended in a harsh whisper.

His expression had gone totally blank. Dangerous.

"Nevermind." I was out the door and two stores down before he caught up to me, tugging me hard to a halt. I didn't protest but stared at the sidewalk, frustrated.

"Stop. _Wait_." He steered me to the edge of a building, just outside a bar that had yet to open and shoved a flask into my hand.

"Drink, then we'll go." I sniffed it and eyed him suspiciously, but it was odorless and… water. Tap water, by the taste.

He nodded shortly, capped it and tucked it away before nodding back to his truck. "Lets go then, and you'll tell me what you can."

* * *

><p>We were well out of the city, headed east before either of us said anything, the radio buzzing quietly on a classic rock station. I was tired again, but more from a full day of travel than anything else. I didn't ask where we were going; I doubted it really mattered, yet.<p>

"Well?" he finally asked.

I told him, starting with my mother's death, to moving in with Damon, to going for a run and being attacked by an insane angel only to be rescued by another and finally to the invisible angel currently sitting in the back seat. John actually turned around to check, but seeing no one, said little.

"But I'm assuming he's 'sparkly'?" he drawled. He had a good voice, but it was that mixture of country and bass that made it so. It was soothing, the kind of voice you'd take seriously.

"Apparently to toddlers, yeah. I've only seen him once, but he looks more or less like your average Joe, with nicer clothes. At least to me."

"Hm. And you're 'sparkly' because?…"

I sighed and realized I'd been doing a lot of sighing lately. A few days of downtime, time to process and assess, sounded like a small slice of heaven. Somehow, it didn't seem that plausible.

"Well, after a lifetime of being a little psychic, you'd think I'd get use to the idea that it comes from somewhere unique… turns out my biological father is an angel too," I said softly. The mountains of the pass rose high above the highway around us. Mountains like these always made me ponder time - how long had it taken for these to rise so high?

John said nothing, but Castiel's energy stirred in the back seat. I hoped it was okay to tell John all this, especially since I already had, but Castiel hadn't stopped me, so…. I hadn't heard even a whisper from Castiel since the apartment balcony. It seemed now maybe I needed a good long chat with him, if he would talk to me at all.

We drove in silence for a few more hours before we began to lose the light in those tall mountains, though they were finally starting to wear thin.

"Where are we going?" I finally asked.

John shifted, roused from his thoughts. "Sort of depends. I've got a few contacts that can help with a few new IDs, but what with angels and all, I'm thinkin' Father Jim may be the one to talk to."

The truck lurched hard and sputtered. I felt Castiel's energy humming hard, like agitation.

"_Bad_ idea," I said sternly. The engine light began flashing and the engine lurched again. The radio suddenly clicked itself on, swiveling through stations. One station, then another, picking words out of the commercials, D.J.s and music.

"**That would**" switch "**mean**" switch "**trouble**" click. The radio turned back off. John glowered at me when the engine began an ominous clanking sound.

"That you!" he hollered.

"No!" I shot back, then glared at the empty back seat. "_Cut it out_," I ground through my teeth.

The radio clicked back on, flipping through stations, A.M. this time, finally stopping on a fuzzy religious one in time to hear a minister, voice stern and Believing "_**cannot reach us here! Because this is GAWWWD's house and alllllll the spirits of saints and GAWWWWD's angels are here with us CANIHEARANAMEN?**_" Then the radio turned back off.

"That's just creepy," I muttered, still glaring at the back.

"Fine," John grumbled loudly. He was _pissed_. "NO churches!" In a heartbeat, the engine was back to it's normal rumbling purr. John glared at the dashboard, the radio, me…. "Tell him _no one _screws with my truck!"

"Pretty sure he heard you," I muttered, but sent a final glare to the back seat for good measure. John didn't look appeased and gave a low hard sound that could only be termed a growl.

"You don't need to be a part of this," I said quietly. "In fact, I'm sure you'd be a lot better off if you weren't." Then I didn't know what to say. 'Let me off at the next town?' Then what? I _did_ need help. Meeting John seemed the one stroke of luck I'd had so far. Good luck, anyway. And only for me.

"Look, if you…. if you can just point me to where I can get a new name, it'll be more than enough." I paused a moment. "I suck at relying on people…. and suck more at asking for help."

He grunted. "Most people do," he said easily. "I can help with the ID, no worries there. Getting you somewhere safe after that, though -"

"No," I said, head shaking firmly. No… that's on me. 'Til I figure out what the full story is, everyone, including me will be better off if I stay out of the way."

"Well, I sort of specialize in the world of weird, but angels and angel lore are new to me. I'll take you to Bobby's. He's no expert either, but he's got a hell of a library. He runs a salvage yard - 'bout as out of the way as you can get and still get some information."

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't want to put your friend in danger." Dusk had fallen while we talked and I wondered idly where Bobby lived. I wasn't even certain where _we_ were now.

"Don't worry, he's outta town; you'll get the place to yourself. I'll call and let him know you'll be bunking there."

"Won't he mind?" It felt odd, the idea of roosting in someone's empty home. "Why are you helping me, anyway?" I blurted before I lost my nerve. I'd been wondering, of course, but wasn't sure I'd like the answer. I didn't think it'd be in the way of 'So I can collect the bounty on your head', but still…

"I got a call a few days ago - psychic friend of mine. She asked if I could stop by and check on her old friend Theo, since I was up this ways already. And she never calls without a reason."

Hm. That was unexpected. "Being a little psychic myself, it's hard to quibble, but… do you trust her?" I asked, watching him through the dim of the cab.

"Missouri?" He smiled, eyes still on the road, his aura strong and confident. "Yes," he said simply, meaning it.

I nodded quietly, relaxing. This was a _good man_. Everything about him radiated with it. _Solid. True. Righteous_. And right then, that was enough for me.

* * *

><p>We stopped for food and gas, but drove well into the night. I'd fallen asleep - roads all looking the same to me - <em>somewhere<em>, and woke in the morning to an empty truck, surrounded by stacks and stacks of dead cars. I could see the edge of a small two-story down one of the 'isles' and, grabbing my bag, slipped out of the cab, closing the door with the bang it needed.

Then it rushed at me - large, brown, furry and seemed to be made up of at least half teeth, but that might just have been me. He was big, even for a Rott, but this was the first dog to ever charge me - he probably only looked big. I hoped.

He slid to a halt 5 feet from my own, growled again, and then sniffed. Then he plopped down on his butt and stuck out a paw, wagging happily with a doggy grin. I smiled, let him have an extra sniff for good measure, and shook the offered paw. He trailed beside me all the way to the house, and gave the house itself a greeting bark. John opened the front door, eyeing the mass of pooch warily.

"That dog hates everybody," he said, stepping back from the door in invitation. I climbed the short steps and entered. The dog stayed outside like a good sentry. The inside of the house was dim and dilapidated, much like the outside, only dustier. But it was dry, warm, and out of the way so I really couldn't complain.

"Bobby's?" I guessed with a head tilt back to the porch.

"Yup. Gone for another week or more, still. He said you're welcome to stay if you feed the beast out there, stay out of his room, and don't touch the phones." He nodded the way to the next room, which seemed to be a….. something between a living room turned library and a post-apocalyptic temple of all religions. Books, dust, symbols, dust, ritual circles? dust, and possibly, under it all, a sofa, desk, and chair. It was a little overwhelming.

"Wow," I said.

"Yeah, but I've pulled out a few volumes," he said with a nod to the desk - 40 books or so - "to get you started. Don't know how clean the guest room is… or the bathroom," he added with a grimace, "but there's food in the kitchen," a nod to the other side of the house, "and at least 1 running car. Rusty red Buick out front." He dropped keys into my hand and headed for the front door.

I looked at the keys. "You're leaving?" I asked dumbly. He seemed anxious to go, but paused.

"Yeah, had another call this morning. May have a lead on something I've been tracking down. I'll have the IDs messengered over tomorrow, but I need to go now if I'm going to catch this… informant in time. Any preferences on names?"

I was finally catching up to the whirlwind of the first 5 minutes of my morning. "Uh," I said, "not really, so long as they're simple enough. He nodded, turned and left, and was already down the steps when I recalled.

"John!" He turned back, and I suddenly knew I wouldn't meet him again. "_Thank you_." He nodded again and started away. "Um…" He turned again, looking frustrated. "I have dreams," I blurted, and sought the right words while he looked on curiously. "About your sons." _That_ got his attention - he stepped back up to the porch, waiting. Maybe having a psychic friend had taught him the we needed to get things 'just so'. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let the words come.

"Sons of the righteous will be at the heart. One to begin, one to end. Two pillars bound. They'll either hold each other strong or pull each other down. The path is set, but not the destination."

Opening my eyes, I could see he looked both perplexed and troubled. "No," I said, "I don't know what it means. It isn't my prophecy. But I _do_ know it's true."

"Who's prophecy is it, then?" he asked seriously.

"Chuck's." I answered simply.

He continued to look intently at me, but I only nodded once, turned, and went inside, closing the door softly behind me.

**a/n:** Reviews welcome and appreciated!


	13. The Garden

**The Garden and the Gate**

S-

Uncomfortable with sleeping in someone else's bed, even guest bed, while they weren't home didn't sit well with me, friend of an acquaintance or not. I unearthed what had once been a sofa, careful to keep the books in whatever random stacks they'd been in, lining them up in a row beside the fireplace. I did take a more or less clean pillow and blanket from a bedroom upstairs. All the rooms were dusty, but the hall bath was fine and had clean towels. I showered as quickly as my long hair would allow, changed into my one change of clothes, and tossed the dirty ones in the wash while hunting down the food John had mentioned.

'Food' turned out to be soup, freezer-burnt TV dinners, or booze. I chose soup, of which there were about 30 varieties. Maybe Bobby didn't get out much.

I brought the dog food and water, then we sat together in companionable silence while my hair finished drying. The dog kept eyeing the corner of the porch. Then me...Porch...Me...

"Castiel?" I asked, knowing he was there. "Can we talk?" Silence. "Hm." I hadn't thought he really had feelings to hurt, but… "I have issues with discrimination… always have, and for no good personal reason I know. I just..._do_."

Silence.

"I'm going to die. Maybe sooner, maybe later, but if I die 5 minutes from now, I won't have a _clue_ as to why. I don't want to die ignorant."

More silence, but had that been a slight wavering I'd felt? "I'm only 18. I've had 18 whole years to figure out I'm little more than a freak - now I'm a freak with a price on my head."

Still, nothing.

I gave up, went inside, and began to read.

* * *

><p>C-<p>

Castiel watched John Winchester drive away, and wondered if telling him the prophesy had been wise. The man would, of course, have a roll to play - an important one, though Castiel didn't yet know what. He couldn't see that far from here, and couldn't go back to Heaven to ask.

He could only guess how long Gabriel might take to complete his 'nudging pieces', whatever that was, but Castiel could be patient. He'd had plenty of practice, though usually not with just a single charge to watch over. And never one, as far as he knew, anything like Sari. And it wasn't just the Grace - _her_ Grace, that was interesting. No, he wasn't sure yet what…

He'd been more than a little discomforted by her insight into him. He'd been as he'd been for thousands upon thousands of years. Some habits are hard to break, but given that all are equal in God's eyes… God had commanded of them they love humans, for they were also his children, but the nephilim, they weren't _just_ human. Uriel considered them abominations, but Castiel had never completely agreed, not truly.

God brought angels into being; this he knew. God brought humans into being; that he knew. But had God brought the nephilim, or simply _'let' _them into being? It was his first children, his angels, that made the nephilim. God, clearly, had allowed this.

Then there was evolution. The constant change, and lack of, in every particle of the universe that had allowed man to become as they were; and for angels to become as they were. Changing. Slowly, at first, some secretly giving in to envy, like Lucifer. He was beginning to wonder just how abrupt change could be for an angel.

Castiel didn't see these musings as Doubt. But he was curious. He himself had changed. But he didn't doubt God's plan, he thought philosophically, because he didn't _know_ God's plan. But, did Gabriel? He was, after all, one of God's first. And, though Castiel loved and respected the others, thought he must surely be one of his wisest. Gabriel understood man, as much as any of his siblings did, but did _not_ envy them. He had not been cast down for his actions or for his interference. Was this God's plan as well?

Take Orders. Do as You are Told. Love. Do NOT Doubt. These were the instructions he'd been instilled with. These, he had followed. But was there love buried in all this fear? Fear, too, had changed him. He wasn't really certain how, but Gabriel saw this in him, perhaps picked him over all others because of it.

This lever of frustration was new as well. How was he to _Learn_, to _Know_ with all of these questions unanswered?

Castiel sighed, then wondered when he'd adopted that gesture.

Sari had spoken to him on the porch asking, in her way, for answers. He wasn't sure how much to say, if anything. She didn't want to die; wanted to be 'normal' in fact. A normal human, with no angelic Grace.

"_Why_ do you want to be 'normal'?" he asked, appearing beside her.

* * *

><p>S-<p>

I shrieked. Well, more of a girly squeak, which was somehow worse. He stood very close by the sofa, almost looming, but his expression was genuine curiosity.

"Could you move back 2 steps, please?" I thought I sounded calm; hard to tell with my pulse still pounding in my ears. He stepped back cautiously, exactly 2 steps, and waited.

"Thanks." I'd been lying on the sofa, half asleep, but sat up now. And he still seemed to be looming. "Maybe you could sit down, too?" Besides the sofa, the only other chair not buried in books was behind the desk. Which suited me, since I finally got a good look at him, head to toe. The whole package was a nice one. Not as tall as Damon, but nearly, with broad shoulders and…. well, a _great ass_. How did angels decide how to look? Were they given a form, or was it random? I'd add that to my list of questions. He sat behind the desk, apparently unused to it, folded his hands, and waited.

"Ah, sorry, still brain frozen. What did you ask?"

"Why do you want to be a normal human?" There was no accusation in the question, or judgement. I turned on the sofa to face him fully, thinking of how to word it.

"Well, I don't… not always, you know. But when I do," I paused, considering. "I don't always feel like I'm strong enough, or capable enough to handle the responsibilities that come with being - more? Other? Is there even a _name_ for what I am?" I hadn't expected an answer.

"Those who are descendants of angels have been called the nephilim." Very straight forward.

"Oh." I paused. "_Have_ been?"

"Yes," he said.

"And now they're not?" It seemed as good a time as any to pry some answers from him.

His eyes flickered a second. "We don't know how many true nephilim there are left. Many, like your brother, are - reincarnated, or only a piece of what and who they were before."

"Reinca- I thought it was either Heaven or Hell? Why do some come back?" It seemed odd, an angel talking reincarnation - but then, my life at large was odd.

"Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory," he clarified, very matter of fact.

"Purgatory? So… Heaven good, Hell bad, what's Purgatory for? The indifferent?"

"No, it's merely a place for those who won't go to Heaven or Hell. Such as those creatures who have no souls-" It seemed he left something out, but I let it be.

"Ah." I looked pointedly around the room, monster books everywhere. I'd perused through them a little earlier. "So…. wendigo?"

"Purgatory."

"Shapeshifters?"

"Purgatory."

"Vampires?"

"Purgatory."

"Huh." He blinked at me as I thought. "Why am _I_ different?" I finally asked. "Why such an interest in _me_?"

"I don't know," he said, seeming sorry for it.

"You don't know _any_ of it?" That seemed hard to believe.

"What I know is… sketchy, I believe the term is."

"Sketchy," I murmured, confused.

"Yes."

"Sketchy or not, what you _do_ know could save my life." He seemed to consider that while I waited.

"I don't remember all of it. I believe Gabriel has altered my memory. Possibly others, as well." He looked uncomfortable at that.

"But you don't know why?"

"No. But I doubt he would do such a thing without reason."

"He's my father, isn't he?" I asked abruptly. This time he nodded, saying nothing.

Then, "You're important to him." He looked quickly away, as if he hadn't meant to say that.

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't even really thought about it - or was trying hard not to. We sat in silence for a time, each in our own thoughts.

"So…. how did you get drafted for me-sitting, anyway? Is this like angelic time-out for you?"

He shrugged, as if trying the gesture out. "I don't know. But, as I've said, I believe my memory is… lacking."

"Sounds frustrating. _Is_ frustrating. Sometimes I feel like I'm missing… " I sighed, out of words.

"Yes," he said softly. "Missing too much."

I nodded, silent. So we actually did have something in common, besides Gabriel.

"Will he be coming back?" I asked.

"Who?" he asked.

Oh, right… no mind reading. "Gabriel."

"He said so, yes."

"When?" Hopefully he'd have more answers than Castiel.

"Several weeks, perhaps months." He was looking uncomfortable again.

"Oh… You're stuck here for a while, then." He nodded, looking over my shoulder out the window. He was nice to look at, at least. Soft-looking hair, full lips… and those eyes… those same blue-gray eyes… If he stayed visible, that was. Comforting, like his voice. A little gruff, but smooth.

I felt myself beginning to doze, just watching him. Then, I was dreaming.

_It was a great gate, tall and guilded, not with any metal, but with Light. The walls on either side rose even higher, disappearing into the starry night sky. Beyond the gate was a garden, lush and wild, every plant ever known twining together like lace, glowing from within with colors never known to man. A small movement, and an old kindly-looking black man stepped out, smiling sadly and shaking his head._

_"You can't come in, Sariel. It's not permitted." I felt my heart sink and grow tight. It was Home in there. It was my home, too! Why wouldn't they let me in? "There's work to be done, Sariel. You must find the others." I was being pulled away then, though trying to hold on, to get home! But that pulling was relentless, and I was dragged back, back into the dark._

I woke with tears on my face, and didn't know why. Just a dream. I felt Castiel's hand on my shoulder, comforting but silent. It was dark out now, the room in shadows. Not just a dream, I knew.

"Who is the man in the garden?" I asked quietly. "The garden behind the gate?" I blinked into the dark and knew he sat close next to me. Even in the dim light, he looked surprised.

"Joshua. His name is Joshua." He also spoke quietly; I suppose sometimes the dark inspires that. He shifted and dropped his hand - and I wished he hadn't. "Why?" he asked.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and asked - "Why would he say I'm not allowed in? That I'm not permitted?" I could feel the tears welling up - I knew the answer, but needed to hear him say it.

He was silent for a second. "The nephilim aren't allowed into Heaven," he said quietly. "They never have been."

I crumpled. I sank. I wished for oblivion. I cried, my heart breaking. I could never go home. Castiel took my hand, one solid thing to hold onto, and we sat in the dark while I wept for a home I would never know.

**a/n:** Reviews are welcomed and appreciated! :)


	14. Slipping

**Slipping**

S-

It was like losing my mother all over again - I felt hollow and lost. But I didn't have Damon this time. Nor could I - not if I wanted to keep him safe. Castiel remained visible, but only sat there looking at me pityingly, until I finally told him to go. I could feel him there, the quietest hum of energy I'd felt from him yet, but he at least gave me the illusion of alone.

My new IDs arrived the next day - 7 sets total including birth certificates, social security cards and passports. My own real ID was there too; I hadn't even noticed it was gone.

There was a small scrap of paper with a simple phone number and a hastily scrawled J.W. I tucked it away in my pack and stared at the pile of books. I couldn't bring myself to open any of them. Myth and lore and legend about God and Heaven and angels… I was still too numb to care. Without really thinking, I pulled on my shoes, my coat, my pack and was walking down the drive. Castiel appeared beside me, keeping pace. I hadn't wanted to take Bobby's car. I wasn't sure which way the nearest town was, but I'd find my way.

"Where are we going?" Castiel finally asked. I stopped, cocked my head to listen, but hearing nothing relented and asked.

"Where's the nearest highway?" He looked around intently, then pointed left, across a field. "Then that's where we're going." I said, starting off. By mid afternoon I was feeling better, or at least more myself. It was still hard to conjure much of a plan, but just walking, just moving was better than not. We reached a highway, small, but with some traffic, at dusk. There was a rest stop just down the hill and I was, by now, in dire need of a toilet.

After washing as much dust and dirt off as I could with a handful of paper towels, I searched for a vending machine. Out of order. I sighed at it and gave it a kick with my shoe, as if that would bring it back to life.

"Do you want something from in there?" Castiel asked. I quirked a brow at him.

"Cookies." And then I had cookies in my hand. "Cas, you rock." I sighed, ripping them open. I bought a bottle of water - no need to rip off the vending company more - and sat to eat.

"According to Joshua," I said finally, "I need to find the others. Did he mean the other nephilim?"

"I don't know. The angels tasked with apprehending them have difficulty tracking them. Nephilim are naturally hidden from angels not in their immediate presence. But it may be different between the nephilim themselves. No one in Heaven knows; or won't say, if they do.

"Well, that's good news. But how did Danielle find me then? I was in the middle of nowhere."

"I'm uncertain, but she must have been close by already, or tracking the energy from your… er, release.

"Release? What -?" Then I remembered. "Ohhhh…. _That_."

"Yes. A release of that much angelic energy at once - every angel in Heaven would have heard it, and many here on Earth. It is unwise to use your energy - your Grace - without the means to escape should they follow it back to you."

"Oh." I said, blinking. "Oops."

"Yes."

"So, angels can't really find me, but using my mojo - that's like a universal locator beacon?"

"Mojo?"

"Energy, go-juice…. Grace." The word felt strange on my tongue. I didn't feel graceful. Bumbling, staggering, tripping through life; _not_ graceful.

He nodded. "Unless they're nearby already, then…"

I sighed. Yeah…. then. "I don't even know how to work this mojo. Or _not_ work it, more to the point. Will I ever be able to control it?"

"With practice, yes."

"Ah. And, how do I practice without being detected?"

He seemed to really think about it for a second, finally shrugged and said "Carefully." Of course.

"But how -" was as far as I'd asked when I heard it - felt it. Like a subterranean shiver echoing down from the stars. Castiel's eyes widened and I felt mine do the same.

"They're coming," he said. His jaw set for the space of a heartbeat, and decided. Then, he reached out and touched me. It was a funky sensation. We _slid_ - there are no other words - _Through Reality_, and out the other side.

I landed hard on my ass, sputtering.

"What?" I began, climbing to my feet before seeing the billboard on the building before us. "Are we in Russia?"

Castiel opened his mouth to respond when it came again. He looked worried this time, reached out, and we were in a jungle. At least this time I was standing. But that shiver had followed us and -

"How?" I demanded, the fear plain in my voice when we landed again, the desert this time. The sun was just setting over the horizon.

"I don't know," he said angrily, and almost growled when it found us again, louder this time. _Closer._

We _slipped_ again, but it was still on our proverbial heels. I was shoving down panic, hard, trying to keep my head. Castiel looked worried, but determined.

"We may need to split up," he finally said when we'd landed again. Paris, this time.

"What? NO!" I did _not_ want to be alone if they caught up. I didn't want _Castiel_ to be alone if they caught up.

"Yes," he said gruffly. "They can't track you - or, shouldn't - it's very likely me they're after.

"But-" Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic… was a mantra in my head. Panic was dangerous and we were knee-deep already.

"I'll drop you off, try to keep them going." He looked concerned, chewing on a thought. "I may not be able to find you again. If not, _hide_. Avoid using your Grace unless necessary. Gabriel will likely come for you soon if I'm not back. _Be Careful_.

This time it wasn't like_ slipping_. More like being ripped apart and thrown back together while being run over by a freight train. I landed hard, rolling on concrete and finally gaining my feet with my head still spinning. **Ouch.**

But there was no shiver following this time. No Castiel either. I seemed to be in some kind of an empty warehouse, dark and deserted. But I could see, as I finally caught my breath, an exit sign glowing softly down a hallway. I parked myself a little ways down, and waited for Castiel. But 12 hours later, Castiel still hadn't come back. Neither had anyone else.

I didn't see Castiel again for more than 3 years.

* * *

><p><strong>To be continued in Nephilim: Other Battles<strong>

**a/n: **Reviews always welcome and appreciated! :)


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